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A QUESTION 


THE IDYL 

OF A PICTURE BY HIS FRIEND 


ALMA TADEMA 


RELATED BY 

* 

GEORG EBERS 

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From the German by MARY J. SAFFORD 

Authorized Edition 

NEW YORK 

W. S. GOTTSBERGER & CO., PUBLISHERS 
II MURRAY STREET 
1889 


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Copyright, i88t, by William S. Gottsbergkr. 


of Sops erne ' ouncil A.A.S.ft 
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To Frau Fanny Puricelli 

IN TOKEN OF 


AN OLD AND CHANGELESS FRIENDSHIP 




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PRELUDE. 


In the Art-Palace on green Isar’s strand, 

Before one picture long 1 kept my seat, 

1 1 held me spellbound by some magic band. 

Nor when my home I sought, could I forget. 

A year elapsed, came winter’s frost and snow, 
’Twas rarely now we saw the bright sun shine, 

I plucked up courage and cried : ‘‘ Be it so !” 
Then southward wandered with those I call mine. 

Like birds of passage built we there a nest 
On a palm-shaded shore, all steeped in light. 

Life was a holiday, enjoyed with zest 

And grateful hearts, the while it winged its flight. 

Oft on the sea’s wide purplish-blue expanse, 

With ever new delight I fixed my eyes, 

Alma Tadema’s picture, at each glance 
Recalled to mind, a thousand times would rise. 

Once a day dawned, glad as a bride’s fair face. 
Perfume, and light, and joy it did enfold, 

Then — without search, flitted from out of space 
Words for the tale that my friend’s picture told. 



A OUES'TION. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE HOUSE-KEEPER AND THE STEWARD. 

“ Salt sea- water or oil, it’s all the same 
to you ! Haven’t I put my lamp out long 
ago? Doesn’t the fire on the hearth give 
light enough ? Are your eyes so drowsy 
that they don’t see the dawn shining in 
upon us more and more brightly ? The 
olives are not yet pressed, and the old oil 
is getting toward the dregs. Besides, you 
know how much fruit those abominable 
thieves have stolen. But sparrows will 
carry grain into the barn before you’ll try 
to save your master’s property !” 

So Semestre, the ancient house-keeper 
of Lysander of Syracuse, scolded the two 
maids, Chloris and Dorippe, who, unheed- 
ing the smoking wicks of their lamps, were 
wearily turning the hand-mills. 

A Question. 


2 


A QUESTION. 


Dorippe, the younger of the two, grasped 
her disordered black tresses, over which 
thousands of rebellious little hairs seemed 
to weave a veil of mist, drew from the mass 
of curls falling on her neck a bronze arrow, 
with which she extinguished the feeble 
light of both lamps, and, turning to the 
house-keeper, said: 

''There, then ! We can’t yet tell a black 
thread from a white one, and I must put 
out the lamps, as if this rich house were a 
beggar s hut. Two hundred jars of shining 
oil were standing in the storehouses' a week 
ago. Why did the master let them be put 
on the ship and taken to Messina by his 
brother and Mopsus ?” 

"And why isn’t the fruit gathered yet?” 
asked Chloris. "The olives are overripe, 
and the thieves have an easy task, now the 
• watchmen have gone to Messina as rowers. 
We must save by drops, while we own 
more gnarled olive-trees than there are 
days in the year. How many jars of oil 
might be had from the fruit that has 


A QUESTION. 


dropped on the ground alone ! The harvest 
at neighbor Protarch s was over long ago, 
and if I were like Lysander — 

‘'There would probably be an end of 
saving,'' cried the house-keeper, interrupting 
the girl. “Well, I confess it wasn't easy 
for me to part with the golden gift of the 
gods, but what could I do ? Our master's 
brother, Alciphron, wanted it, and there 
was a great barter. Alciphron is clever, 
and has a lucky hand, in which the liquid 
gold we press from the olives with so much 
toil, and keep so carefully, becomes coined 
metal. He's like my own child, for I was 
his nurse. Here in the country we increase 
our riches by care, patience and frugality, 
while the city merchant must have far- 
seeing eyes, and know how to act speedily. 
Even when a boy, my Alciphron was the 
wisest of Dionysius's three sons, and, if 
there was anything sweet to be divided, 
always knew how to get the largest share. 
When his mother was alive, she once told 
the lad to give her the best of some freshly- 


4 


A QUESTION. 


baked cakes, that she might take it to the 
temple for an offering, and what was his 
answer ? ‘It will be well for me to taste 
them all, that I may be certain not to make 
a mistake;’ and when Clytemnestra — ” 

“ Is Alciphron younger than our poor 
master?” interrupted Dorippe. 

“They were sesame cakes with honey,” 
replied the house-keeper, whose hearing 
was impaired by age, and who therefore 
frequently misunderstood words uttered in 
a low tone. “ Is the linen ready for the 
wash ?” 

“ I didn’t ask about the cakes,” replied 
Dorippe, exchanging a mischievous glance 
with Chloris ; “ I only wanted to know — ” 
“You girls are deaf; I’ve noticed it a 
long time,” interrupted the house-keeper, 
“You’ve grown hard of hearing, and I 
know why. Hundreds of times I’ve for- 
bidden you to throw yourselves on the 
dewy grass in the evening, when you were 
heated by dancing. How often I get ab- 
surd answers, when I ask you anything !” 


A QUESTION. 


5 


The girls both laughed merrily. 

The higher voice of one mingled har- 
moniously with the deeper tones of her 
companion, and two pairs of dark eyes 
again met, full of joyous mirth, for they 
well knew who was deaf, and who had 
quicker hearing than even the nightingale, 
which, perched on the green fig-tree out- 
side, was exultingly hailing the sunrise, 
now with a clear, flute-like warble, now 
with notes of melancholy longing. 

The house-keeper looked with mingled 
astonishment and anger at the two laugh- 
ing girls, then clapped her hands loudly, 
exclaiming 

“To work, wenches! Ypu, Chloris, pre- 
pare the morning meal ; and you, Dorippe, 
see if the master wants anything, and bring 
fresh wood for the fire. Stop your silly 
giggling, for laughing before sunrise causes 
tears at evening. I suppose the jests of the 
vineyard watchmen are still lingering in 
your heads. Now go, and don’t touch food 
till you’ve arranged your hair.” 


6 


A QUESTION. 


The girls, nudging each other, left the 
women's apartment, into which the dawn 
was now shining more brightly through the 
open roof. 

It was a stately room, surrounded by 
marble columns, which bore witness to the 
owner s wealth, for the floor was beautifully 
adorned with bright-hued pictures, mosaic 
work executed in colored stones by an 
artist from Syracuse. They represented 
the young god Dionysius, the Hyades sur- 
rounding him, and in colored groups all the 
gifts of the divinities who watch over fields 
and gardens, as well as those of the Nysian 
god. Each individual design, as well as 
the whole picture, was inclosed in a frame- 
work of delicate lines. The hearth, over 
which Semestre now bent, to fan the glim- 
mering embers with a goose-wing, was made 
of yellow marble. 

Dorippe now returned, curtly said that 
the master wanted to be helped into the 
open air, when the sun was higher, and 
brought, as she had been ordered, a fresh 


A QUESTION. 


7 


.supply of gnarled olive-branches, and pine- 
cones, which, kindling rapidly, coaxed the 
wood to unite its blaze with theirs. 

Glittering sparks flew upward from the 
crackling branches toward the open roof, 
and with them a column of warm smoke 
rose straight into the pure, cool morning 
air ; but as the door of the women’s apart- 
ment now opened, the draught swept the 
gray, floating pillar sideways, directly to- 
ward Semestre, who was fanning the flames 
with her goose-wing. 

Coughing violently, she wiped her eyes 
with the edge of her blue peplum, and 
glanced angrily at the unbidden guest who 
ventured to enter the women’s apartment at 
this hour. 

As soon as she recognized the visitor she 
nodded pleasantly, though with a certain 
touch of condescension, and rose from her 
stool, but instantly dropped back on it 
again, instead of going forward to meet the 
new-comer. Then she planted herself still 
more firmly on her seat, and, instead of 


A QUESTION. 


Uttering a friendly greeting, coughed and 
muttered a few unintelligible words. 

“ Give me a little corner by your fire, it’s 
a cold morning,” cried the old man in a 
deep voice. “ Helios freezes his people be- 
fore he comes, that they may be doubly 
grateful for the warmth he bestows.” 

“You are right,” replied Semestre, who 
had only understood a few of the old man’s 
words ; “ people ought to be grateful for a 
warm fire ; but why, at your age, do you 
go out so early, dressed only in your chiton, 
without cloak or sandals, at a season when 
the buds have scarcely opened on the trees. 
You people yonder are different from others 
in many respects, but you ought not to go 
without a hat, Jason; your hair is as white 
as mine.” 

“ And wholly gone from the crown,” re- 
plied the old man, laughing. “ It’s more 
faithful to you women ; I suppose out of 
gratitude for the better care you bestow. I 
need neither hat, cloak, nor sandals ! An 
old countryman doesn’t fear the morning 


A QUESTION. 


9 


chill. When a boy, I was as white as your 
master’s little daughter, the fair- faced 
Xanthe, but now head, neck, arms, legs, 
every part of me not covered by the woolen 
chiton, is brown as a wine-skin before it’s 
hung up in the smoke, and the dark hue is 
like a protecting garment, nay better, for it 
helps me bear not only cold, but heat. 
There’s nothing white about me now, ex- 
cept the beard on my chin, the scanty hair 
on my head, and, thank the gods, these two 
rows of sound teeth.” 

Jason, as he spoke, passed his hard, 
brown finger over the upper and then the 
under row of his teeth ; but the house- 
keeper, puckering her mouth in the attempt 
to hide many a blemish behind her own lips, 
answered : 

“Your teeth are as faithful to you as our 
hair is to us, for men know how to use 
them more stoutly than women. Now 
show what you can do. We have a nice 
curd porridge, seasoned with thyme, and 
some dried lamb for breakfast. If the girl 


lO A QUESTION. 

hurries, you needn’t wait long. Every 
guest, even the least friendly, is welcome to 
our house.” 

I didn’t come here to eat,” replied the 
old man ; I’ve had my breakfast. There’s 
something on my mind I would like to dis- 
cuss with the clever house-keeper, nay, I 
ought to say the mistress of this house, and 
faithful guardian of its only daughter.” 

Semestre turned her wrinkled face to- 
wards the old man, opened her eyes to 
their widest extent, and then called eagerly 
to Dorippe, who was busied about the 
hearth, ‘'We want to be alone !” 

The girl walked slowly toward the door, 
and tried to conceal herself behind the pro- 
jecting pillars to listen, but Semestre saw 
her, rose from her seat, and drove her out 
of doors with her myrtle-staff, exclaiming : 
“ Let no one come in till I call. Even 
Xanthe must not interrupt us.”- 

“You won’t stay alone, for Aphrodite 
and all the Loves will soon join such a pair,” 
cried the girl, as she sprang across the 


A QUESTION. 


II 


threshold, banging the door loudly behind 
her. 

“What did she say?” asked Semestre, 
looking suspiciously after the maiden. 
“The vexations one has to endure from 
those girls, Jason, can’t be described, es- 
pecially since they’ve grown deaf” 

“ Deaf?” asked the old man in astonish- 
ment. 

“Yes, they scarcely understand a word 
correctly, and even Xanthe, who has just 
reached her seventeenth year, is beginning 
to be hard of hearing.” 

A smile flitted over Jason’s face, and, 
raising his voice to a louder tone, he said, 
flatteringly : 

“ Every one can’t have senses as keen as 
yours, Semestre ; have you time to listen to 
me ?” 

The house-keeper nodded assent, leaned 
against the column nearest the hearth, rested 
both hands on her staff, and bent forward to 
intimate that she would listen attentively, 
and did not wish to lose a single word. 


12 


A QUESTION. 


Jason stood directly opposite, and, while 
thus measuring each other with their eyes, 
Semestre looked like a cautious cat await- 
ing the attack of the less nimble but stronger 
shepherd’s dog. 

“You know,” Jason began, “that when, 
long ago, we two, you as nurse and I as 
steward, came to this place, our present 
masters’ fine estates belonged undivided to 
their father. The gods gave the old man 
three sons. The oldest, Alciphron, whom 
you nursed and watched througlr his boy- 
hood, went to a foreign land, became a 
great merchant in Messina, and, after his 
father’s death, received a large inheritance 
in gold, silver and the city house at the 
port. The country estates were divided 
between Protarch and Lysander. My 
master, as the elder of the two, obtained 
the old house ; yours built this new and 
elegant mansion. One son, the handsome 
Phaon, has grown up under our roof, while 
yours shelters the lovely Xanthe. My 
master has gone to Messina, not only to 


A QUESTION. 


13 


sell our oil and yours, but to speak to the 
guardian of a wealthy heiress, of whom his 
brother had written. He wants her for 
Phaon’s wife ; but I think Phaon was 
created for Xanthe and Xanthe for him. 
There’s nothing lacking, except to have 
Hymen — ” 

“To have Hymen unite them,” inter- 
rupted Semestre. “There’s no hurry about 
heiresses ; they don’t let themselves be 
plucked like blackberries. If she has 
scorned her country suitor, it may well 
seem desirable to Protarch and all of you 
that Xanthe should prove more yielding, 
for then our property would be joined with 
yours.” 

“ It would be just the same as during 
Dionysius’s lifetime.” 

“And you alone would reap the profit.” 

“ No, Semestre, it would be an advantage 
to both us and you ; for, since your master 
had that unlucky fall from the high wall of 
the vineyard, the ruler’s eye is lacking here, 
and many things don’t go as they ought.” 


14 


A QUESTION. 


‘‘ People see what they want to see/’ 
cried Semestre. ‘‘ Our estates are no worse 
managed than yours/’ 

‘‘ I only meant to say — ” 

''That your Phaon seems to you well 
fitted to supply my master’s place. I think 
differently, and, if Lysander continues to 
improve, he’ll learn to use his limbs again.” 

"An invalid needs rest, and, since the 
deaths of your mistress and mine, quarrel- 
ling never ceases — ” 

" We never disturb the peace.” 

" And quarrelling is even more unpleasant 
to us than to you ; but how often the shep- 
herds and vine-dressers fight over the 
spring, which belongs to us both, and 
whose beautiful wall and marble bench are 
already damaged, and will soon be com- 
pletely destroyed, because your master says 
mine ought to bear the expense of tjie 
work — ” 

" And I daily strengthen him in this 
belief We repaired the inclosing wall of 
the spring, and it’s only fair to ask Protarch 


A QUESTION. 


15 


to mend the masonry of the platform. We 
won’t yield, and if you — ” 

“If we refuse to do Lysander’s will, it 
will lead to the quarrelling I would fain 
prevent by Phaon’s marriage with your 
Xanthe. Your master is in the habit of 
following your advice, as if you were his 
own mother. You nurse the poor invalid 
like one, and if you would only — ” 

“ Lysander has other plans, and Phaon’s 
father is seeking an heiress for his son in 
Messina.” 

“ But surely not for the youth’s happi- 
ness, nor do I come to speak to you in 
Protarch’s name.” 

“ So you invented the little plan yourself 
— I am afraid without success, for I’ve 
already told you that my master has other 
views.” 

“Then try to win him to our side — no, 
not only to us, but to do what is best for 
the prosperity of this house.” 

“ Not for this house ; only for yourselves. 
Your plan doesn’t please me.” 


A QUESTION. 


l6 

“Why not?” 

“ I don’t wish what you desire.” 

“ ‘ I don’t wish that’s a woman’s most 
convincing reason.” 

“ It is, for at least I desire nothing I 
haven’t carefully considered. And you 
know Alciphron, in Syracuse, our master’s 
oldest brother, did not ask for the heiress, 
who probably seemed to him too insig- 
nificant for his own family, but wanted our 
girl for his son Leonax. We joyfully gave 
our consent, and, within a few days, per- 
haps to-morrow, the suitor will come from 
Messina with your master to see his bride.” 

“ Still, I stick to it ; your Xanthe belongs 
to our Phaon, and, if you would act accord- 
ing to Dionysius’s wishes, like fair-minded 
people — ” 

“ Isn’t Alciphron — the best and wisest of 
men — also Dionysius’s child ? I would give 
his first-born, rather than any one else, this 
fruitful soil, and, when the rich father’s 
favorite, when Leonax once rules here by 
Xanthe’s side, there’ll be no lack of means 


A QUESTION. 


17 


to rebuild the platform and renew a few 
marble benches.'' 

Angered by these words, the old man in- 
dignantly exclaimed : 

‘‘You add mockery to wrong. We know 
the truth. To please Alciphron, your foster- 
child, you would make us all beggars. If 
Lysander gives his daughter to Leonax it 
Avill be your work, yours alone, and we 
will — " 

Semestre did not allow herself to be in- 
timidated, but, angrily raising her myrtle- 
staff, interrupted Jason by exclaiming in a 
loud, tremulous voice : 

“You are right. This old heart clings 
to Alciphron, and throbs more quickly at 
the mere mention of its darling's name ; but 
verily you have done little to win our affec- 
tion. Last autumn the harvest of new 
wine was more abundant than we expected. 
We lacked skins, and when we asked you 
to help us with yours — " 

“We said no, because we ourselves did 
not know what to do with the harvest." 

A Question. 2 


A QUESTION. 


“ And who shamefully killed my gray 
cat ?” 

“ It entered Phaon’s dove-cote and killed 
the young of his best pair of cropper 
pigeons.” 

“ It was a marten, not the good, kind 
creature. You are unfriendly in all your 
acts, for when our brown hen flew over to 
you yesterday she was driven away with 
stones. Did Phaon mistake her for a 
vulture with sharp beak and powerful 
talons ?” 

“ A maid-servant drove her away, be- 
cause, since your master has been ill and 
no longer able to attend to business, your 
poultry daily feeds upon our barley.” 

“ I’m surprised you don’t brand us as rob- 
bers !” cried Semestre. “Yes, if you had 
beaten me yourself with a stick, you would 
say a dry branch of a fig or olive tree had 
accidentally fallen on my back. I know you 
well enough, and Leonax, Alciphron’s son, 
not your sleepy Phaon, whom people say is 
roaming about when he ought to be resting 


A QUESTION. 


19 


quietly in the house, shall have our girl for 
his wife. It's not I who say so, but Ly- 
sander, my lord and master." 

Your will is his," replied Jason. “Far 
be it from me to wound the sick man with 
words, but ever since he has been ill you’ve 
played the master, and he ought to be called 
the house-keeper. Ay, you have more in- 
fluence under his roof than any one else, but 
Aphrodite and Eros are a thousand times 
more powerful, for you rule by pans, spits, 
and soft pillows — they govern hearts with 
divine, irresistible omnipotence." 

Semestre laughed scornfully, and, striking 
the hard stone floor with her myrtle-staff, 
exclaimed : 

“ My spit is enough, and perhaps Eros is 
helping it with his arrows, for Xanthe no 
longer asks for your Phaon, any more than 
I fretted for a person now standing before 
me when he was young. Eros loves harder 
work. People who grow up together and 
meet every day, morning, noon, and night, 
get used to each other as the foot does to 


20 


A QUESTION. 


the sandal, and the sandal to the foot, but 
the heart remains untouched. But when a 
handsome stranger, with perfumed locks and 
costly garments, suddenly meets the maiden, 
Aphrodite’s little son fits an arrow to his 
golden bow.” 

“ But he doesn’t shoot,” cried Jason, 
when he knows that another shaft has 
already pierced the maiden’s heart. Any 
man can win any girl, except one whose 
soul is filled with love for another.” 

“The gray-headed old bachelor speaks 
from experience,” retorted Seniestre, quickly. 
“And your Phaon ! If he really loved our 
girl, how could he woo another or have her 
wooed for him ? It comes to the same thing. 
But I don’t like to waste so many words. I 
know our Xanthe better than you, and she 
no more cares for her playfellow than the 
column on the right side of the hearth 
yearns toward the one on the left, though 
they have stood together under the same 
roof so long.” 

“ Do you know what the marble feels ?” 


A QUESTION. 


21 

‘‘ Nothing, Jason, nothing at all; that is, 
just as much as Xanthe feels for Phaon. But 
what's that noise outside the door ?” 

The house-keeper was still talking, when 
one of the folding doors opened a little, and 
Dorippe called through the crack : 

May we come in ? Here's a messenger 
from Protarch.” 

Admit him," cried Semestre, eagerly. 
The door flew wide open, and the two girls 
entered the women's apartment with Mop- 
sus, the brother of the lively Chloris. The 
latter was clinging to his arm, and as he 
came into the hall removed the broad-brim- 
med travelling-hat from his brown locks, 
while dark-skinned Dorippe went behind 
him and pushed the hesitating youth across 
the threshold, as a boat is launched into the 
sea. 

In reply to the house-keeper’s excited 
questions, he related that Protarch had sold 
his master's oil at Messina for as high a 
price as his own, bought two new horses for 
his neighbor Cleon, and sent Mopsus him- 


22 


A QUESTION. 


self forward with them. If the wind didn’t 
change, he would arrive that day. 

While speaking, he drew from the girdle 
which confined his blue chiton, bordered 
with white, around his waist, a strip of 
papyrus, and handed it to Semestre with a 
greeting from his master. 

The house-keeper looked at both sides of 
the yellow sheet, turned it over and over, 
held it close to her eyes, and then glanced 
hesitatingly at Jason. He would know that 
.she could not read ; but Xanthe could de- 
cipher written sentences, and the young girl 
must soon appear at breakfast. 

“ Shall I read it?” asked the old man. 

“ I could do so myself, if I chose,” replied 
the house-keeper, drawing her staff over the 
floor in sharp and blunt angles, as if she 
were writing. “ I could, but I don’t like to 
hear news on an empty stomach, and what 
is said in this letter concerns myself, I 
should suppose, and nobody else. Go and 
call Xanthe to breakfast, Dorippe.” 

“ I know what is in it,” cried the girl, 


A QUESTION. 


23 


reluctant to part from her companion's 
brother, whom she loved, and who still had 
a great deal to tell her about his journey to 
Messina. ‘‘ Mopsus has told us. Our mas- 
ter s nephew, Leonax, Alciphron's son, will 
accompany his uncle and stay for a week or 
longer as a guest, not over yonder with 
Protarch, but here in our house. He is a. 
handsome youth, even taller than Phaon, 
and Mopsus says Alciphron's wife, by 
our master s request, dipped deep into his 
purse at Messina, and bought from her 
husband's merchant friends gold bracelets 
and women's garments, such as matrons 
wear." 

At these words a smile of joy and hope 
flitted over Semestre's wrinkled face, like a 
spring breeze sweeping across a leafless 
garden. She no longer thought of the 
harm a piece of news might do her empty 
stomach, and, while mentally seeing the flut- 
ter of a matron's beautiful blue garment and 
the flash of Xanthe's rich dowry, eagerly 
asked the welcome messenger: 


24 


A QUESTION. 


“ Does she speak the truth ? And what 
is this about the robes ?” 

“ I brought the clothes myself,” replied 
Mopsus, “ and packed them in a beautiful 
chest inlaid with ivory, like those newly- 
wedded youths receive with the bridal 
dowry. Praxilla, the handsome sister of 
Alciphron’s wife, also gave — ” 

“ Go and call Xanthe !” cried Semestre, in- 
terrupting the messenger. She had laughed 
softly several times while listening to his 
tale, and, when the girls hastily withdrew 
with Mopsus, cast a triumphant glance at 
J ason. 

Then, remembering how much was to be 
done to make fitting preparation for the 
young suitor Leonax, she called loudly : 

“ Dorippe — Chloris ! Chloris — Dorippe!” 

Neither of the maidens seemed to hear, 
and, when obliged to resign all hope of an 
answer, she shrugged her shoulders, and 
turning to J ason said : 

“ So young and so deaf ; it is sad. Poor 
girls !” 


A QUESTION. 


25 


They like Mopsus better than you, and 
don’t wish to hear,” replied Jason, laughing. 

They canti' said Semestre, angrily. 
‘'Mopsus is a bold, good-for-nothing fellow, 
whom I’ve often wanted to drive out of the 
house, but I should like to see the person 
who refused me obedience. As for your pro- 
posal, you have now heard distinctly enough 
that our girl is intended for Leonax.” 

" But suppose Xanthe doesn’t want 
Leonax, and prefers Phaon to the stranger?” 

" Alciphron’s son a 'stranger’ on the es- 
tates of his ancestors !” exclaimed Semestre. 
"What don’t we hear? But I must go to 
work to prepare the best possible reception 
for Leonax, that he may feel from the first 
he is no stranger here, but perfectly at 
home. Now go, if you choose, and offer 
sacrifices to Aphrodite, that she ma}^ join 
the hearts of Xanthe and Phaon. I’ll stick 
t6 my spit.” 

"Then you’ll be in the right place,” 
cried Jason, "but you’re not yet turning it 
for Leonax’s wedding-feast.” 


26 


A QUESTION. 


“ And I promise you I’ll prepare the roast 
for Phaon’s,” retorted Semestre, '‘but not 
until the sacrifice of an animal I’m fattening 
myself induces the foam-born goddess to 
kindle in Xanthe’s heart sweet love for 
Leonax.” 


CHAPTER II. 

XANTHE. 

" Xanthe, Xanthe !” called Semestre, a 
short time after. " Xanthe ! Where is the 
girl ?” 

The old woman had gone into the gar- 
den. Knowing how to use time to advan- 
tage, and liking to do two things at once, 
while looking for her nursling and repeat- 
edly shouting the girl’s name, she was 
gathering vegetables and herbs, on which 
the dew of early morning still glittered 
brightly. 

While thus occupied, she was thinking 
far more of her favorite’s son and the roast 


A QUESTION. 2 / 

meats, cakes, and sauces to be prepared for 
him, than of Xanthe. 

She wanted to provide for Leonax all the 
dishes his father had specially liked when a 
child, for what a father relishes, she consid- 
ered, will please his children. 

Twenty times she had stooped to pluck 
fresh lavender, green lettuce, and young, 
red turnips, and each time, while straighten- 
ing herself again by her myrtle-staff, as well 
as a back bent by age would allow, called 
'' Xanthe, Xanthe 

Though she at last threw her head back 
so far that the sun shone into her open 
mouth, and the power of her lungs was not 
small, no answer came. This did not make 
her uneasy, for the girl could not be far 
away, and Semestre was used to calling her 
name more than once before she obeyed. 

True, to-day the answer was delayed 
longer than usual. The maiden heard the 
old woman's shrill, resounding voice very 
clearly, but heeded it no more than the 
cackling of the hens, the screams of the 


28 


A QUESTION. 


peacocks, and the cooing of the doves in the 
court-yard. 

The house-keeper, she knew, was calling 
her to breakfast, and the bit of dry bread 
she had taken with her was amply sufficient 
to satisfy her hunger. Nay, if Semestre 
had tempted her with the sweetest cakes, 
she would not have left her favorite nook by 
the spring now. 

This spring gushed from the highest rock 
on her father’s estate. She often went there, 
especially when her heart was stirred, and 
it was a lovely spot. 

The sparkling water rushed from a cleft 
in the rocks, and, on the left of the little 
bench, where Xanthe sat, formed a clear, 
transparent pool, whose edges were inclosed 
by exquisitely-polished, white-marble blocks. 
Every reddish pebble, every smooth bit of 
snowy quartz, every point and furrow and 
stripe on the pretty shells on its sandy bot- 
tom, was as distinctly visible as if held be- 
fore the eyes on the palm of the hand, and 
yet the water was so deep that the gold cir- 


A QUESTION. 


29 


clet sparkling above the elbow on Xanthe’s 
round arm, nay, even the gems confining 
her peplum on the shoulder, would have 
been wet had she tried to touch the bot- 
tom of the basin with the tips of her 
fingers. 

The water was green and clear as crystal, 
into which, while molten, bits of emeralds- 
had been cast to change them into liquid 
drops. 

Farther on it flowed through a channel 
choked with all kinds of plants. Close by 
the edges of the rivulet, which rushed 
swiftly down to the valley, drooped delicate 
vines, that threw their tendrils over the 
stones and flourished luxuriantly in the rocks 
amid thick, moist clumps of moss. Dainty 
green plants, swayed to and fro by the 
plashing water, grew everywhere on the 
bottom of the brook, and, wherever on its 
course it could flow more smoothly, ferns, 
nodding gracefully, surrounded it like os- 
trich-feathers waving about the cradle of a 
royal babe. 


30 


A QUESTION. 


Xanthe liked to watch the stream disap- 
pear in the myrtle-grove. 

When, sitting in her favorite nook, she 
turned her eyes downward, she overlooked 
the broad gardens and fields of her father 
and uncle, stretching on the right and left 
of the stream along the gentle slope of the 
mountain, and the narrow plain by the sea. 

The whole scene resembled a thick woolen 
carpet, whose green surface was embroidered 
with white and yellow spots, or one of the 
baskets young maidens bear on their heads 
at the feast of Demeter, and in which, piled 
high above the edge, light and dark-hued 
fruit gleams forth from leaves of every tint. 

Groves of young pomegranate and myrtle- 
trees, with vigorous shoots, stood forth in 
strong relief against the silvery gray-green 
foliage of the gnarled olive-trees. 

Fragrant roses, glowing with a scarlet 
hue, as if the sun’s fiery kiss had called them 
to life, adorned bushes and hedges, while, 
blushing faintly, as if a child’s lips had 
waked them from slumber, the blossoms of 


A QUESTION. 


31 


the peach and almond glimmered on the 
branches of the trees. 

Tiny young green leaves were growing 
from the oddly-interwoven branches ot the 
fig-trees, to which clung the swelling pouches 
of the fruit. Golden lemons glittered amid 
their strong, brilliant foliage, which had sur- 
vived the winter season ; and long rows of 
blackish-green cypresses rose straight and 
tall, like the grave voices of the chorus amid 
the joyous revel. To Xanthe, gazing down- 
ward, her father’s pine-wood seemed like a 
camp full of arched, round tents, and, if she 
allowed her eyes to wander farther, she be- 
held the motionless sea, whose broad sur- 
face, on this pleasant morning, sparkled like 
polished sapphire, and everywhere seemed 
striving to surpass with its own blue the 
color of the clear sky. Ever and anon, like 
a tiny silver cloud floating across the firma- 
ment, white sails glided by. 

Pleasant green hills framed this lovely 
view. On their well-cultivated slopes ap- 
peared here the white, glimmering walls of 


32 


A QUESTION. 


a temple; yonder villages, houses, and cot- 
tages, like the herds and single sheep that 
lie half concealed by dense foliage. 

Garlands of flowers surround the heads of 
happy mortals, and here the house of every 
wealthy land-owner was inclosed by a hedge 
or garden. 

Behind the hills rose the sharply-cut out- 
lines of the naked cliffs of the lofty, distant 
mountains, and the snowy head of sleeping 
Mount Etna gleamed brightly through the 
mist. 

Now, in the early morning, sea and gar- 
den, hills and distant mountains were covered 
with a delicate veil of indescribable hue. It 
seemed as if the sea had furnished the warp 
of this fabric, and the golden sun the woof. 

The scene was wondrously beautiful, but 
Xanthe had not gone to the spring to gaze 
at the landscape; nay, she scarcely knew 
that it was lovely. 

When the sea shone with the hue of the 
sky and lay motionless, as it did to-day, 
she thought Glaucus, the god of the blue 


A QUESTION. 


33 


sea, was sunning' himself in pleasant slum- 
ber. 

On other bright days when the waves and 
surges swelled, white foam crowned their 
crests, and a never-ending succession of 
breakers dashed upon the shore, she believed 
the fifty daughters of Nereus were pursuing 
their sports under the clear water. 

They were all lovely ^m^^^and full of 


exuberant gayety. 


Some rocked quiedy^j^^ the gleaming 
waves, others boldly sw^S^ themselves on 
the backs of the bearded Tritons, and mer- 
rily urged them through the flood. 

When the surf beat roaring on the strand, 
Xanthe thought she could hear these crea- 
tures guiding their course with their scaly 
tails and blowing into shells, and many a 
glimmering foam-crest on a deep-blue wave 
was no transparent bubble — no, the girl dis- 
tinctly saw that it was the white neck, the 
gleaming arm, or the snowy foot of one of 
Nereus's daughters. She believed that she 
clearly distinguished them sporting joyously 

A Question, 3 


34 


A QUESTION. 


up and down through the azure water, now 
plunging into the depths with their feet, and 
now with their heads foremost, anon floating 
gently on the surface of the waves. One 
held out her hand to another, and in so 
doing their beautiful, rounded arms often 
gleamed beneath the crest of a surge. 

Every day they practised new games, as 
the sea never looks precisely the same; each 
hour it changed its hue, here, there, and 
everywhere. Light streaks, like transpar- 
ent bluish-green gauze, often ran through 
the darker surface, which resembled a pur- 
plish-blue mantle of some costly Phoeni- 
cian stuff; the waves could flash black as 
the eye of night, and white as Leucothea’s 
neck. 

Then Amphitrite appeared, with floating 
hair and resonant voice, and beside her Po- 
seidon with his four steeds. 

Frowning sullenly, he struck them sharply 
with his lash, which whistled through the 
air, and angrily thrust his trident deep into 
the sea. Instantly the waves took hues of 


A QUESTION.. 


35 


lighter brown, deeper yellow, and cloudy 
gray, and the sea wore the aspect of a shal- 
low pond with muddy bottom, into which 
workmen hurl blocks of stone. The purity 
of the water was sadly dimmed, and the 
billows dashed foaming toward the sky, 
threatening in their violent assault to shatter 
the marble dike erected along the shore. 
The Nereids, trembling, took refuge in the 
ever-calm depths, the Tritons no longer used 
their hollow shells to blow gentle harmonies; 
nay, they sent forth crashing war-songs, as 
if some hostile citadel were to be assailed; 
while Amphitrite thrust both hands into her 
long, fluttering hair, and with out-stretched 
head uttered her furious roar. 

But to-day the sea was calm, and when 
Xanthe had reached the spring the edges of 
the milk-white, light, fleecy clouds, towering 
one above another on the summits of the 
loftier mountains, were still glowing with a 
rosy light. It was the edge of the garment 
of the vanishing Eos, the leaves of the blos- 
soms scattered by the Hours in the pathway 


36 


A QUESTION. 


of the four steeds of Helios, as th^y rose 
from the waves. 

To day and at this hour the morning 
sunlight fell serenely on the tall cypresses 
upon the hill, the trees in the garden sway- 
ed in the soft breath of the morning breeze, 
and Xanthe nodded to them, for she thought 
the beautiful Dryads living in the trees 
were greeting each other. 

Often, with a brief prayer, she laid flowers 
or a round cake on the altar that stood be- 
side her seat, and which her ancestor had 
erected to the nymph of the spring — but to- 
day she had not come for this. 

Then what brought her to the hill so 
early ? Did she visit the spring to admire 
her own image in its mirror-like surface? 

At home she was rarely permitted such 
an indulgence, for, whenever she looked in 
the polished metal-disk, Semestre used to 
say: 

'Tf a girl often peers into such useless 
things, shedl certainly see a fool’s image in 
them.” 


A QUESTION. 


37 


Forbidden things are charming, yet Xan- 
the rarely looked into this liquid mirror, 
though she might have enjoyed gazing at it 
frequently, for her figure was tall and slen- 
der as the trunk of a cypress, her thick fair 
hair glittered like gold, the oval of her face 
was exquisitely rounded, long lashes shaded 
the large blue eyes that could conceal no 
emotion which stirred her soul, and when 
she was alone seemed to ask: “What have 
the gods allotted for my future?” Yet in 
their gaze might often be read the answer : 
“Something delightful, surely.” 

And yet Xanthe did not come to the 
spring to paint pictures of her future; on 
the contrary, she came to be sad, and shed 
tears unrebuked. She did not weep pas- 
sionately, but the big salt drops welled 
slowly from her eyes and ran down her 
young cheeks, as drop after drop of shining 
sap flows down the trunk of a wounded 
birch-tree. 

Yes, Xanthe felt very sorrowful, yet 
everything that surrounded her was so 


38 


A QUESTION. 


bright, and at her home laughter was rarely 
silent, while her own often rang out no less 
merrily than that of lively Chloris and dark- 
skinned Dorippe. 

Her sick father, now slowly recovering, 
could refuse her nothing, and, if Semestre 
tried to do so, Xanthe usually succeeded in 
having her own way. There was no lack 
of festivals and joyous dances, and to none of 
her companions did the youths present more 
beautiful ribbons, to no one in the circle did 
they prefer to offer their hands. She was 
the fairest of all the maidens far and near, 
and Ismene, Phryxus’s wife, had said that 
her laughter was gay enough to make a 
cripple dance. Ismene had a daughter her- 
self just Xanthe's age, so it must probably 
have been true. 

Then why, in the name of all the gods, 
was Xanthe sad? 

Is any cause required to explain it? 

Must a maiden have met with misfortune, 
to make her feel a longing to weep? 

Certainly not. 


A QUESTION. 


39 


Nay, the gayest rattle-brain is the least 
likely to escape such a desire. 

When the sky has long shone with un- 
clouded splendor, and the air is so wonder- 
fully clear that even the most distant moun- 
tain-peaks are distinctly visible, rain is not 
long delayed; and who can laugh heartily 
a long time without finally shedding tears 
like a mourner? 

Whoever endures a severe though not the 
deepest affliction, whoever is permitted to 
reach the topmost summit of joy, and a girl 
who feels love — these three Heaven favors 
with the blessing of tears. 

Had Eros’s arrow struck Xanthe’s young 
heart too? 

It was possible, . though she would not 
confess it even to herself, and only yester- 
day had denied it, without the quiver of an 
eyelash. 

Yet, if she did love a youth, and for his 
sake had climbed to the spring, he must 
doubtless dwell in the reddish house, stand- 
ing on a beautiful level patch of ground on 


40 


A QUESTION. 


the right of the brook, between the sea and 
the pool; for she glanced toward it again 
and again, and, except the servants, no one 
lived under its roof save the aged steward 
Jason, and Phaon, her uncle’s son. Pro- 
tarch himself had gone to Messina, with his 
own and her father’s oil. 

To age is allotted the alms of reverence, 
to youth the gift of love, and, of the three 
men who lived in the house on Xanthe’s 
right-hand, only one could lay claim to such 
a gift, and he had an unusually good right 
to do so. 

Xanthe was thinking of Phaon as she sat 
beside the spring, but her brow wore such a 
defiant frown that she did not bear the most 
distant resemblance to a maiden giving her- 
self up to tender emotions. 

Now the door of the reddish house 
opened, and, rising hastily, she looked toward 
it. A slave came cautiously out, bearing a 
large jar with handles, made of brown clay, 
adorned with black figures. 

What had the high-shouldered graybeard 


A QUESTION. 


41 


done, that she stamped her foot so angrily 
on the ground, and buried the upper row of 
her snow-white teeth deep in her under-lip, 
as if stifling some pang? 

No one is less welcome than the unbidden 
intruder, who meets us in the place of some 
one for whom we ardently long, and Xanthe 
did not wish to see the slave, but Phaon, his 
master’s son. 

She had nothing to say to the youth ; she 
would have rushed away if he had ventured 
to seek her by the spring, but she wanted 
to see him, wanted to learn whether Semes- 
tre had told the truth, when she said Phaon 
intended to marry a wealthy heiress, whose 
hand his father was seeking in Messina. 
The house-keeper had declared the night 
before that he only wooed the ugly creature 
for the sake of her money, and now took 
advantage of his father’s absence to steal out 
of the house evening after evening, as soon 
as the fire was lighted on the hearth. And 
the fine night-bird did not return till long 
past sunrise, no doubt from mad revels with 


42 


A QUESTION. 


that crazy Hermias and other wild fellows 
from Syracuse. They probably understood 
how to loosen his slow tongue. 

Then the old woman described what oc- 
curred at such banquets, and when she men- 
tioned the painted flute-players, with whom 
the dissipated city youths squandered their 
fathers’ money, and the old house-keeper 
called attention to the fact that Phaon al- 
ready wandered about as stupidly and sleep- 
ily as if he were a docile pupil of the noto- 
rious Hermias, Xanthe fairly hated her, 
and almost forgot the respect she owed to 
her gray hair, and told her to her face she 
was a liar and slanderer. 

But the girl had been unable to speak, for 
Phaon’s secret courtship of the Messina 
heiress had deeply wounded her pride, and 
he really did look more weary and dreamy 
than usual. 

Semestre’s praises of her cousin, the 
young Leonax, Xanthe had heard as little 
as the chirping of the crickets on the hearth, 
and before the house-keeper had finished 


A QUESTION. 


43 


speaking she rose, and, without bidding her 
good-night, turned her back and left the 
women's apartment. 

Ere lying down to rest in her own room, 
she paced up and down before her couch, 
then began to loosen her thick hair so care- 
lessly that the violent pulling actually hurt 
her, and tied so tightly under her chin the 
pretty scarlet kerchief worn over her golden 
tresses at night to prevent them from tang- 
ling, that she was obliged to unfasten it 
again to keep from stifling. 

The sandals, from which she had released 
her slender feet, and which, obedient to her 
dead mother s teaching, she usually placed 
beside the chair where her clothes lay 
smoothly folded, she flung into a corner of 
the room, still thinking of Phaon, the Mes- 
sina heiress, and her playfellow's shameful 
conduct. She had intended to discover 
whether Semestre spoke the truth, and in 
the stillness of the night consider what she 
must do to ascertain how much Phaon was 
concerned in his father's suit. 


44 


A QUESTION. 


But the god Morpheus willed otherwise, 
for scarcely had Xanthe laid down to rest, 
extinguished her little lamp, and wrapped 
herself closely in the woolen coverlet, when 
sleep overpowered her. 

The young girl waked just before sunrise, 
instantly thought of Phaon, of the heiress, 
and of Semestre’s wicked words, and hastily 
went out to the spring. 

From there she could see whether her 
uncle’s son returned home from the city with 
staggering steps, or would, as usual, come 
out of the house early in the morning to 
curry and water his brown steeds, which no 
slave was ever permitted to touch. 

But he did not appear, and, in his place, 
the high-shouldered servant entered the 
court-yard. 

If the young girl was usually sad here, be- 
cause she liked to be melancholy, to-day 
grief pierced her heart like a knife, and the 
bit of white bread she raised to her lips 
because, with all her sorrow, she was hun- 
gry, tasted bitter, as if dipped in wormwood. 


A QUESTION. 


45 


She had no need to salt it; the tears that 
fell on it did that. 

Xanthe heard the house-keepers calls, 
but did not obey immediately, and perhaps 
would not have heeded them at all if she had 
not noticed — yes, she was not mistaken — 
that, in the full meaning of the words, she 
had begun to weep like a chidden child. 

She was weeping for anger; and soon it 
vexed her so much to think that she should 
cry, that fresh tears streamed down her 
cheeks. 

But not many, for, ere her beautiful eyes 
grew red, they were dry again, as is the 
custom of eyes when they are young and 
see anything new. 

Two children, a vineyard- watchman’s son 
and a herdsman’s little daughter, approached 
the spring, talking loudly together. 

They had decked themselves with fresh, 
green vines tv/ined about their necks and 
bosoms, and were now going to sail a little 
boat made of bark in the tiny, walled pool 
into which the spring flowed. 


46 


A QUESTION. 


The boy had been the owner of the boat, 
but had given it to the little girl the day 
before, and now refused to deliver it, unless 
she would give him in exchange the shining 
shells .her big brother had found, cleaned, 
and fastened around her little brown arm 
with a string. The boy persisted in his de- 
mand, stretching out his hand for the shells, 
while the little girl, with sobs and tears, 
defended herself 

Xanthe, unobserved by the children, be- 
came a witness of this contest between might 
and right, hastily stepped between the com- 
batants, gave the boy a blow on the shoulder, 
took the boat away, handed it to the little 
maiden, and, turning to the latter, said : 

“ Now, play quietly together, and, if Syrus 
doesn’t let you keep the boat and the shells, 
come to me, poor Stephanion.” 

So saying, she wiped the little girl’s eyes 
with her own skirt, seized her by the shoulder, 
grasped the boy’s black curls, pressed the 
two little ones toward each other with gentle 
violence, and commanded: 


A QUESTION. 


47 


“ Now, kiss each other !” 

The little girl dutifully obeyed the bid- 
ding, but the kiss the boy gave his playmate 
strongly resembled a blow with the mouth. 

Xanthe laughed merrily, turned her back 
on the children, and went slowly down into 
the valley. 

During her walk all sorts of little incidents 
flashed through her mind with the speed of 
lightning ; memories of the days when she 
herself was a little girl and Phaon had played 
with her daily, as the curly-headed Syrus 
now did with the herdsman’s daughter. 

But all the scenes swiftly conjured up be- 
fore her mental vision were very different 
from that just witnessed. 

Once, when she had said that the brook 
couldn’t bear to the sea all the leaves and 
flowers she tossed in, Phaon only smiled 
quietly, but the next day she found, fastened 
to an axis, a wooden cross he had carved 
himself and fixed between some stones The 
stream swept against the broad surfaces of 
the spokes and forced it to turn constantly. 


48 


A QUESTION. 


For weeks both enjoyed the successful toy, 
but he did not ask a word of thanks, nor did 
she utter any, only eagerly showed her 
pleasure, and that was enough for Phaon. 

If she began to build a house of sand and 
stones with him, and it was not finished at 
once, when they went to play next day she 
found it roofed and supplied with a little 
garden, where twigs were stuck in the sand 
for trees, and red and blue buds for flowers. 
He had made the seat by the spring for her, 
and also the little steps on the seashore, 
by whose aid it was possible to enter dry- 
shod the boat her playfellow had painted 
with brilliant hues of red and blue, because 
a neighbor s gay skiffi had pleased her fancy. 

She now thought of these and many 
similar acts, and that he had never promised 
her anything, only placed the finished article 
before her as a matter of course. 

It had never entered his mind to ask com- 
pensation for his gifts or thanks for his acts, 
like curly-headed Syrus. Silently he ren- 
dered her service after service ; but, unfor- 


A QUESTION. 


49 


tunately, at this hour Xanthe was not dis- 
posed to acknowledge it. 

People grow angry with no one more 
readily than the person from whom they 
have received many favors which they are 
unable to repay ; women, no matter whether 
young or old, resemble goddesses in the fact 
that they cheerfully accept every gift from a 
man as an offering that is their due, so long 
hs they are graciously disposed toward the 
giver, but to-day Xanthe was inclined to be 
vexed with her playmate. 

A thousand joys and sorrows, shared in 
common, bound them to each other, and in 
the farthest horizons of her recollections lay 
an event which had given her affection for 
him a new direction. His mother and hers 
had died on the same day, and since then 
Xanthe had thought it her duty to watch 
over and care for him, at first, probably, only 
as a big live doll, afterward in a more seri- 
ous way. And now he was deceiving her and 
going to ruin. Yet Phaon was so entirely 
different from the wild fellows in Syracuse. 

A Question, 4 


50 


A QUESTION. 


From a child he had been one of those 
who act without many words. He liked to 
wander dreamily in lonely paths, with his 
large, dark eyes fixed on the ground. 

He rarely spoke, unless questioned. 

Never did he boast of being able to ac- 
complish, or having successfully performed, 
this or that feat. 

He was silent at his work, and, even while 
engaged in merry games, set about a task 
slowly, but completed whatever he under- 
took. 

He was welcome in the wrestling-ring 
and at the dance, for the youths respected 
his strength, grace, dexterity, and the quiet 
way in which he silenced wranglers and 
boasters; while the maidens liked to gaze 
into the handsome dreamer’s eyes, and 
admired him, though even in the maddest 
whirl of the dance he remained passionless, 
moving lightly in perfect time to the meas- 
ures of the tambourine and double flute. 

True, many whom he forgot to notice 
railed at his silent ways, and even Xanthe 


A QUESTION. 


51 


had often been sorely vexed when his tongue 
failed to utter a single word of the significant 
stories told by his eyes. Ay, they under- 
stood how to talk ! When his deep, ardent 
gaze rested upon her, unwavering, but glow- 
ing and powerful as the lava-stream that 
sweeps every obstacle from its still, noiseless 
course, she believed he was not silent from 
poverty of mind and heart, but because the 
feelings that moved him were so mighty 
that no mortal lips could clothe them in 
words. 

Nevertheless, to-day Xanthe was angry 
with her playfellow, and a maiden’s wrath 
has two eyes — one blind, the other keener 
than a falcon’s. 

What she usually prized and valued in 
Phaon she now did not see at all, but dis- 
tinguished every one of his defects. 

True, he had shown her much affection 
' without words, but he was certainly as mute 
as a fish, and would, doubtless, have boasted 
and asked for thanks like anybody else, if 
indolence had not fettered his stiff tongue. 


52 


A QUESTION. 


Only a short time ago she was obliged 
to give her hand to lanky Iphis, because 
Phaon came forward too slowly. He was 
sleepy, a foolish dreamer, and she would 
tell him it would be better for him to stretch 
himself comfortably on his couch and con- 
tinue to practise silence, rather than woo 
foreign maidens and riot all night with dis- 
sipated companions. 


CHAPTER III. 

LYSANDER. 

As Xanthe approached her father’s house, 
Semestre’s call and the gay notes of a mo- 
naulus* greeted her. 

A conjurer had obtained admittance, and 
was showing his laughing audience the tricks 
of his trained cocks and hens. 

He was a dwarfish, bow-legged little man, 
with a short neck, on which rested a big 
head with a very prominent forehead, that 


* A musical instrument, played like our flageolet or clarinet. 


A QUESTION. 


53 


shaded his small piercing eyes like a bal- 
cony. 

The feariiered actors lived in a two- 
wheeled cart, drawn from village to village, 
and city to city, by a tiny, gayly-decked 
donkey. 

Three cocks and four hens were now 
standing on the roof of the cart, looking 
very comical, for their clever owner, who 
doubtless knew what pleases the eyes of 
children and peasants, had colored their 
white feathers, here and there, with brilliant 
red and glaring yellow. 

Beside the cart stood a pale, sorrowful- 
looking boy, playing a merry tune on the 
monaulus. Lysander, Xanthe’s father, had 
been helped out of the house into the sun- 
light, and, seated in his arm-chair of polished 
olive-wood, was gazing at the show. 

As soon as he saw his daughter, he beck- 
oned to her, and stroking her hair, while she 
pressed her lips to his forehead, said: 

‘‘An amusing sight! The two hens obey 
the little man as if they were dutiful children. 


54 


A QUESTION. 


I’m glad he came, for a person like me, for- 
bidden by fate to enjoy the comical things 
to be seen out of doors, must be grateful 
when they come in his way. Your feet are 
twitching, Dorippe. Whenever a flute raises 
its voice, it moves young girls’ limbs, as the 
wind stirs the leaves of the poplars. You 
would doubtless like to begin to dance at 
once.” 

At these words, Mopsus, keeping time 
to the music, advanced toward his sweet- 
heart, but Semestre stepped before him, 
exclaiming half to the lad and half to her 
master: 

“There must be no jumping about now. 
Whoever dances in the morning will break 
a leg at night.” 

Lysander nodded assent. 

“Then go into the house, Chloris, and 
fetch this king of hens a jug of wine, some 
bread, and two cheeses.” 

“How many cheeses?” asked the house- 
keeper.” 

“Two,” replied Lysander. 


A QUESTION. 


55 


''One will be more than enough,” cried 
Semestre. — "Bring only one, Chloris.” 

The invalid smilingly shrugged his shoul- 
ders, clasped Xanthe’s hand as she stood 
beside him, and said in so low a tone that 
the old woman could not hear : 

"Haven’t I grown like little thick-skull’s 
hens? Semestre commands and I must 
obey. There she goes after Chloris, to save 
the second cheese.” 

Xanthe smiled assent. Her father raised 
his voice and called to the juggler: 

"Well, my little friend, show what your 
actors can do. — You young people, Mopsus 
and Dorippe, for aught I care, can dance as 
long as the monaulus sounds, and Semestre 
stays in the house.” 

"We want first to see what the hens can 
do,” cried the dark-haired girl, clinging to 
her lover’s arm, and turning with Mopsus 
toward the exhibition, which now began 
again. 

There was many an exclamation of aston- 
ishment, many a laugh, for, when the little 


56 


A QUESTION. 


man ordered his largest cock to show its 
skill in riding, it jumped nimbly on the 
donkey’s back; when he ordered it to clean 
its horse, it pulled a red feather out of the 
ornaments on the ass’s head; and finally 
proved itself a trumpeter, by stretching its 
neck and beginning to crow. 

The hens performed still more difficult 
feats, for they drew from a wooden box for 
each spectator a leaf of a tree, on which cer- 
tain characters were visible. 

The scrawl was intelligible only to the 
conjurer, but was said to contain infallible 
information about the future, and the little 
man offered to interpret the writing to each 
individual. 

This trainer of hens was a clever dwarf, 
with very quick ears. He had distinctly 
understood that, through Semestre, he was 
to lose a nice cheese, and, when the house- 
keeper returned, ordered a hen to tell each 
person present how many years he or she 
had lived in the world. 

The snow-white bird, with the yellow 


A QUESTION. 


57 


head, scratched seventeen times before 
Xanthe, and, on reaching Mopsus, twenty- 
three times, which was perfectly correct. 

'‘Now tell us this honorable lady’s age 
too,” said the conjurer to the hen. 

Semestre told Chloris to repeat what the 
little man had said, and was already reflect- 
ing whether she should not let him have the 
second cheese, in consideration of the "hon- 
orable lady,” when the hen began to scratch 
again. 

Up to sixty she nodded assent, as she 
watched the bird’s claw; at sixty-five she 
compressed her lips tightly, at seventy the 
lines on her brow announced a coming 
storm, at eighty she struck the ground vio- 
lently with her myrtle-staff, and, as the hen, 
scratching faster and faster, approached 
ninety, and a hundred, and she saw that all 
the spectators were laughing, and her mas- 
ter was fairly holding his sides, rushed an- 
grily into the house. 

As soon as she had vanished behind 
the doors, Lysander threw the man half 


58 


A QUESTION. 


a drachm, and, clapping his hands, ex- 
claimed: 

“Now, children, kick up your heels; we 
sha’n’t see Semestre again immediately. 
You did your business well, friend: but now 
come here and interpret your hen’s oracles.” 

The conjurer bowed, by bending his big 
head and quickly raising it again, for his 
short back seemed to be immovable, ap- 
proached the master of the house, and with 
his little round fingers grasped at the leaf in 
Lysander’s hand; but the latter hastily drew 
it back, saying: 

“First this girl, then I, for her future is 
long, while mine — ” 

“Yours,” interrupted the dwarf, standing 
before Lysander — “yours will be a pleasant 
one, for the hen has drawn for you a leaf 
that means peaceful happiness.” 

“A violet-leaf!” exclaimed Xanthe. 

“Yes, a violet-leaf,” repeated the con- 
jurer. “Put it in my hand. There are — 
just look here — there are seven lines, and 
seven — everybody knows that — seven is the 


A QUESTION. 


59 


number of health. Peaceful happiness in 
good health, that is what your oracle says.” 

“The gods owe me that, after suffering so 
long,” sighed Lysander. “At any rate, 
come back here in a year, and if your cack- 
ling Pythia and this little leaf tell the truth, 
and I am permitted to bring it to you with- 
out support or crutch, Pll give you a stout 
piece of cloth for a new cloak; yet nay, bet- 
ter try your luck in six months, for your 
chiton looks sicker than I, and will hardly 
last a whole year.” 

“Not half a one,” replied the conjurer, 
with a sly smile. “Give me the piece of 
stuff to-day, that, when I come back in a 
month, I may have suitable garments when 
I amuse the guests at the feast given for 
your recovery. Pm no giant, and shall not 
greatly impair your store.” 

“Well see what can be done,” replied 
Lysander, laughing, “and if, when you re- 
turn in a month, I don’t turn you from the 
door as a bad prophet, in spite of your fine 
clothes, your flute-player shall have a piece 


6o 


A QUESTION. 


of linen for his thin limbs. But now fore- 
tell my daughter’s future, too.” 

The dwarf took Xanthe’s leaf from her 
hand, and said: 

“This comes from an olive-tree, is par- 
ticularly long, and has a light and dark side. 
You will live to a great age, and your life 
will be more or less happy as you shape it.” 

“As you shape it,” repeated the girl. 
“That’s a real hen’s oracle. ‘As people do, 
so things will be,’ my nurse used to say 
every third word.” Disappointed and an- 
gry, she threw the leaf on the ground, and 
turned her back on the little man. 

The conjurer watched her keenly and 
searchingly, as not without difficulty he 
picked up the leaf. Then glancing pleas- 
antly at her father, he called her back, pointed 
with his finger to the inner surface, and 
said: 

“Just look at these lines, with the little 
strokes here at the end. That’s a snail with 
horns. A slow creature ! It warns people 
not to be over-hasty. If you feel inclined 


A QUESTION. 


6l 

to run, check your steps and ask where the 
path will lead.’' 

“ And move through life like a cart creak- 
ing down into the valley with drags on the 
wheels,” interrupted Xanthe. “ I expected 
something unlike school-masters’ lessons 
from the clever hen that loaded Semestre 
with so many years.” 

‘‘ Only question her about what is in your 
heart,” replied the little man, ''and she won’t 
fail to answer.” 

The young girl glanced irresolutely at the 
conjurer, but repressed the desire to learn 
more of the future, fearing her father’s 
laughter. She knew that, when Lysander 
was well and free from pain, nothing pleased 
him so much as to tease her till she wept. 

The invalid guessed what was passing in 
his little daughter’s mind, and said, encour- 
agingly : 

‘ Ask the hen. I’ll stop both ears while 
you question the oracle. Yes, yes, one can 
scarcely hear his own voice for the monaulus 
and the shouts of the crazy people yonder. 


62 


A QUESTION. 


_ Such sounds lure those who are fond of 
dancing, as surely as a honey-comb brings 
flies. By the dog ! there are four merry 
couples already ! Only I miss Phaon. You 
say the couch in my brother’s house has 
grown too hard for him, and he has found 
softer pillows in Syracuse. With us the 
day began long ago, but in the city perhaps 
they haven’t quite finished with yesterday. 
I’m sorry for the fine fellow.” 

“ Is it true,” asked Xanthe, blushing, 
that my uncle is seeking a rich bride for 
him in Messina?” 

“ Probably, but in courtship one does not 
always reach the desired goal. Has Phaon 
told you nothing about his father’s wishes ? 
Question the conjurer, or he’ll get his new 
clothes with far too little trouble. Save me 
the reproach of being a spendthrift.” 

“ I don’t wish to do so ; what is the use of 
such folly?” replied Xanthe, with flushed 
cheeks, preparing to go into the house. 

Her father shrugged his shoulders, and, 
turning his head, called after her : 


A QUESTION. 


63 


Do as you please, but cut a piece from 
the brown woolen cloth, and bring it to the 
conjurer/' 

The young girl disappeared in the house. 
The tune which the boy drew from the 
monaulus again and again sounded monoto- 
nous, but the young people constantly grew 
more mirthful ; higher and higher sprang 
the bounding feet. 

The ribbons fluttered as if a storm had 
seized them ; many a gay garment waved ; 
and there was no end to the shouts and 
clapping of hands in time with the music. 

When Mopsus, or any other lad, raised 
his voice unusually loud, or a young girl 
laughed in the overflowing joy of her heart, 
Lysander s eyes sparkled like sunshine, and 
he often raised his hands and swayed mer- 
rily to and fro to the measure of the music. 

Your heart really dances with the young 
people," said the conjurer. 

‘‘ But it lacks feet," replied Lysander, and 
then he told him about his fall, and the par- 
ticulars of his sufferings, the danger in which 


64 


A QUESTION. 


he had been, the .remedies used, and the 
final convalescence. He did this with great 
pleasure, for it always relieved his mind 
when he was permitted to tell the story of 
his life to a sympathizing auditor, and few 
had listened more attentively than did the 
conjurer, partly from real interest, partly in 
anticipation of the cloth. 

The little man frequently interrupted Ly~ 
Sander with intelligent questions, and did 
not lose patience when the speaker paused 
to wave his hand to the merry group. 

How they laugh and enjoy themselves f' 
the invalid again exclaimed. ''They are all 
young, and before I had this fall — 

The sentence was not finished, for the 
notes of the monaulus suddenly ceased, the 
dancers stopped, and, instead of the music 
and laughter, Semestre’s voice was heard ; 
but at the same time Xanthe, carrying a 
small piece of brown cloth over her arm, 
approached the sick man. The latter at 
first looked at his daughters flushed face 
with some surprise, then again glanced 


A QUESTION. 


65 


toward the scene of the interrupted dance, 
for something was happening there which 
he could not fully approve, though it forced 
him to laugh aloud. 

The young people, whose sport had been 
interrupted, had recovered from their fright 
and joined in a long chain. 

Mopsus led the saucy band. 

A maiden followed eadi youth, and the 
whole party were united, for each individual 
grasped the person in front with both hands. 

Singing a rhythmical dancing-tune, with 
the upper portion of the body bent forward, 
and executing dainty steps with their feet, 
they circled faster and faster around the 
furious house-keeper. 

The latter strove to catch first Chloris, 
then Dorippe, then some other maiden, but 
ere she succeeded the chain separated, join- 
ing again behind her ere she could turn. 
Mopsus and his dark-haired sweetheart were 
again the leaders. When the ring broke 
the youths and maidens quickly grasped 
each other again, and the chain of singing, 

A Question. 5 


66 


A QUESTION- 


laughing lads and lasses once more whirled 
around the old woman. 

For some time the amused master of the 
house could not succeed in shaking his head 
disapprovingly ; but when the old house- 
keeper, who had never ceased scolding and 
shaking her myrtle-staff, began to totter from 
anger and excitement, Lysander thought the 
jest was being carried too far, and, turning 
to his daughter, exclaimed : 

Go, rescue Semestre and drive those 
crazy people away. Fun must not go be- 
yond proper bounds.” 

Xanthe instantly obeyed the command : 
the chain parted, the youths hurrying one 
way, the maidens another ; the lads escaped, 
and so did all the girls except dark-haired 
Dorippe, who was caught by Semestre and 
driven into the house with angry words and 
blows. 

There will be tears after the morning 
dance,” said Lysander, ‘‘and I advise you, 
friend, if you want to avoid a scolding your- 
self, to leave the place at once with your 


A QUESTION. 67 

feathered artists. Give the man the cloth, 
Xanthe.” 

Xanthe handed the brown woolen stuff 
to the conjurer. 

She blushed faintly as she did so, for, 
while attempting to cut from the piece a 
sufficient quantity, Semestre had snatched 
the knife from her hand, exclaiming rudely : 

“ Half that is twice too much for the inso- 
lent rascal.” 

The little man took the scanty gift, spread 
it out to its full extent, and, turning to Ly- 
sander.said: 

“ At our age people rarely experience 
new emotions, but to-day, for the first time 
since I stopped growing, I wish I was still 
smaller than I am now.” 

The invalid had shaken his head discon- 
tentedly at sight of the tiny piece, and, as 
the conjurer was refolding it over his knee, 
loosed from his shoulders the chlamys he 
himself wore, saying gravely : 

“ Take this cloak, for what Lysander 
promises he does not perform by halves.” 


68 


A QUESTION. 


The last words were addressed to Se- 
mestre as well as the dwarf, for the old 
house-keeper, with panting breath and 
trembling hands, now approached her mas- 
ter. 

Kind words were not to be expected 
from her mouth now, but even more bitter 
and vehement reproaches sprang to her lips 
as she saw her master give his scarcely- 
worn chlamys to a strolling vagrant, and 
also presume to reward her economy with 
taunts. 

She had carefully woven the cloak with 
her own hands, and that, she cried, was the 
way her labor was valued ! There was 
plenty of cloth in the chests, which Ly- 
sander could divide among the buffoons at 
the next fair in Syracuse. In other coun- 
tries, even among wild barbarians, white 
hairs were honored, but here the elders 
taught the young people to insult them with 
jeers and mockery. 

At these words the invalid's face turned 
pale, a dark shadow appeared under his 


A QUESTION. 


69 


eyes, and an expression of pain hovered 
around his mouth. He looked utterly ex- 
hausted. 

Every feature betrayed how the old 
woman's shrill voice and passionate words 
disturbed him, but he could not silence her 
by loud rebukes, for his voice failed, and 
he therefore sought to make peace by the 
soothing gestures of his thin hands and his 
beseeching eyes. 

Xanthe felt and saw that her father was 
suffering, and exclaimed in a fearless, reso- 
lute tone : 

‘‘Silence, Semestre! your scolding is hurt- 
ing my father." 

These words increased the house-keeper s 
wrath instead of lessening it. In a half- 
furious, half- whining tone, she exclaimed : 

“ So it comes to this ! The child orders 
the old woman. But you shall know, Ly- 
sander, that I won’t allow myself to be 
mocked like a fool. That impudent Mopsus 
is your freed-woman’s child, and served this 
house for high wages, but he shall leave it 


70 


A QUESTION. 


this very day, so surely as 1 hope to live until 
the vintage. He or I ! If you wish to keep 
him, I’ll go to Agrigentum and live with my 
daughter and grandchildren, who send to me 
by every messenger. If this insolent fellow 
is more to you than I am. I’ll leave this 
place of ingratitude. In Agrigentum — ” 

“ It is beautiful in Agrigentum !” inter- 
rupted the conjurer, pointing with his finger 
impressively in the direction of this famous 
city. 

“It is delightful there,” cried the old 
woman, “ so long as one doesn’t meet pyg- 
mies like you in the streets.” 

The house-keeper was struggling for 
breath, and her master took advantage of 
the pause to murmur beseechingly, like a 
child who is to be deprived of something it 
loves : 

“ Mopsus must go- — merry Mopsus ? No- 
body knows how to lift and support me so 
well.” 

These words softened Semestre’s wrath, 
and, lowering her voice, she replied ; 


A QUESTION. 


71 


“ You will no longer need the lad for that 
purpose ; Leonax, Alciphron’s son, is com- 
ing to-day. Hell lift and support you as if 
you were his own father. The people in 
Messina are friendly and honor age, for, 
while you jeer at me, they remember the 
old woman, and will send me a beautiful 
matron’s-robe for the future wedding.” 

The invalid looked inquiringly at his 
daughter, and the latter answered, blush- 
ing: 

“ Semestre has told me. She informed 
me, while I was cutting the cloth, that 
Leonax would come as a suitor.” 

“ May he fare better than Alkamenes and 
the others, whom you sent home ! You 
know I will not force your inclinations, but, 
if I am to lose Mopsus, I should like a pleas- 
ant son. Why has Phaon fallen into such 
foolish, evil ways ? The young Leonax — ” ' 

“Is of a different stamp,” interrupted Se- 
mestre. — “Now come, my dove, I have a 
thousand things to do.” 

“ Go,” replied Xanthe. “ 


I’ll come di- 


72 


A QUESTION. 


rectly. — You will feel better, father, if you 
rest now. Let me help you into the house, 
and lie down on the cushion for a time.” 

The young girl tried to lift her father, but 
her strength was too feeble to raise the 
wearied man. At last, with the conjurer’s 
help, he succeeded in rising, and the latter 
whispered earnestly in his ear : 

“My hens tell me many things, but an- 
other oracle behind my forehead says, you 
are on the high-road to recovery, but you 
won’t reach the goal, unless you treat the 
old woman, who is limping into the house 
yonder, as I do the birds I train.” 

“And what do you do?” 

“Teach them to obey me, and if I see 
that they assert their own wills, sell them 
and seek others.” 

“You are not indebted to the stupid 
* creatures for anything?” 

“But I owe so much the more to the 
others, who do their duty.” 

“Quite true, and therefore you feed and 
keep them.” 


A QUESTION. 73 

“ Until they begin to grow old and refuse 
obedience.” 

“ And then?” 

“Then I give them to a peasant, on whose 
land they lay eggs, eat and die. The right 
farmer for your hens lives in Agrigentum.” 

Lysander shrugged his shoulders ; and, 
as, leaning on his daughter, he tottered 
slowly forward, almost falling on the thresh- 
old, Xanthe took a silent vow to give him 
a son on whom he could firmly depend — a 
stalwart, reliable man. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE TWO SUCKING-PIGS. 

Fifteen minutes had passed, and the old 
house-keeper’s face still glowed — no longer 
from anger, but because, full of zeal, she now 
moulded cakes before the bright flames on 
the hearth, now basted the roast on the spit 
with its own juices. 

Beside her stood old Jason, who could not 


74 


A QUESTION. 


give up his young master’s cause for lost, 
and exposed himself once more to the arrows 
of Semestre’s angry words, because he bit- 
terly repented having irritated instead of 
winning her. 

Unfortunately, his soothing speeches fell 
on hard ground, for Semestre scarcely 
vouchsafed a reply, and at last distinctly 
intimated that he interrupted her. 

“Attention,” she said, “ is the mother of 
every true success. It is even more needful 
in cooking than in weaving ; and if Leonax, 
for whom my hands are busy, resembles his 
father, he knows how to distinguish bad 
from good.” 

“Alciphron,” replied Jason, “liked the 
figs on our arbor by the house better than 
yours.” 

“And while he was enjoying them,” cried 
the old woman, “ you beat him with a hazel 
rod. I can hear him cry now, poor little 
dear.” 

“Too many figs are bad for the stomach,” 
replied the old man, very slowly and dis- 


A QUESTION. 


75 


tinctly, but not too loud, that he might not 
remind her of her deafness. Then seeing 
Semestre' smile, he drew nearer, and with 
winning cheerfulness continued: “Be sen- 
sible, and don’t try to part the children, who 
belong to each other. Xanthe, too, is fond 
of figs, and, if Leonax shares his father’s 
taste, how will the sweet fruit of your favor- 
ite trees fare, if Hymen unites them in mar- 
riage ? Phaon doesn ’t care for sweet things. 
But seriously : though his father may seek 
twenty brides for him, he himself wants no 
one but Xanthe. And can you deny that he 
is a handsome, powerful fellow ?” 

“So is the other,” cried Semestre, wholly 
unmoved by these words. “ Have you seen 
your favorite this morning? No ! Do you 
know where he slept last night and the 
night before ?” 

“ On his couch, I .suppose.” 

“ In your house ?” 

“ I don’t run after the youth, now he is 
grown up.” 

“ Neither shall we ! You are giving your- 


76 


A QUESTION. 


self useless trouble, Jason, and I earnestly 
beg you not to disturb me any longer now, 
for a dark spot is already appearing on the 
roast. Quick, Chloris— lift the spit from 
the fire !” 

“ I should like to bid Lysander good- 
morning.” 

“ He is tired, and wants to see no one. 
The servants have vexed him.” 

“Then I’ll stay awhile in the garden.” 

“To try your luck with Xanthe? I tell 
you, it’s trouble wasted, for she’s dressing 
her hair to receive our guest from Messina ; 
and, if she were standing where those cab- 
bage-leaves lie, she wouldn’t contradict me 
if I were to repeat what you heard from my 
lips this morning at sunrise. Our girl will 
never become Phaon’s wife until I myself 
offer a sacrifice to Aphrodite, that she may 
fill Xanthe’s heart with love for him.” 

Jason shrugged his shoulders, and was 
preparing to turn his back on the old 
woman, when Dorippe entered and ap- 
proached the hearth. Her eyes were red 


A QUESTION. 


77 


with weeping, and in her arms she carried 
a round, yellowish-white creature that, strug- 
gling and stretching it s little legs in the air, 
squealed in a clear, shrill voice, even more 
loudly and piteously than a hungry babe. 

It was a pretty, well-fattened sucking- 

Pig- 

Jason looked at it significantly, but Se- 
mestre snatched it out of the girls arms, 
pressed it to her own bosom, turned her 
back upon the old man with resolute mean- 
ing, and said, just loud enough for him alone 
to hear: 

A roast for the banquet.” 

As soon as Jason had left the room, she 
put the nicely-washed pig on a little wooden 
bench, ordered Chloris to see that it did not 
soil itself ; drew from a small box, standing 
beside the loom, one blue ribbon and two 
red ones ; tied the former carefully around 
the little creature s curly tail, and the latter 
about its ears ; lifted the pig again, looked 
at it as a mother gazes at her prettily-dressed 
darling, patted its fattest parts with her 


78 


A QUESTION. 


right-hand, and ordered Dorippe to carry it 
to Aphrodite’s temple immediately. 

It’s a beautiful creature, absolutely fault- 
less, and the priest must slay it at once in 
honor of the gracious goddess. I will come 
myself, as soon as everything is ready here ; 
and, after such a gift, foam-born Cypris will 
surely grant my petition. Hide the little 
treasure carefully under your robe, that no 
one may see it.” 

“ It struggles and squeals when I carry it,” 
replied the girl. 

“Yes, it does squeal,” said the old woman. 
“Wait, I’ll look for a suitable basket.” 

The house-keeper went out, and, when 
she returned, cried : 

“ Mopsus is standing outside with our 
donkey, to carry bag and baggage to his 
mother’s house, but he’s still in Lysander’s 
service to-day. Let him put the creature in 
a basket on the donkey’s back, and then he 
can quickly carry it to the temple — at once 
and without delay, for, if I don’t find it on. 
the goddess’s altar in an hour, you shall 


A QUESTION. 


79 


answer for it! Tell him this, and then get 
some rosemary and myrtle to garland our 
hearth/’ 

Mopsus did not hasten to perform the er- 
rand. He had first to help Dorippe cut the 
green branches, and, while thus engaged, 
sought pleasant gifts not only on the 
ground, but from his sweetheart’s red lips, 
then moved up the mountain with his don- 
key, very slowly, without urging the animal. 
The latter carried one basket on the right 
and one on the left of its saddle, wore bright 
cock’s feathers on its head, and had a fiery- 
red bridle. It looked gay enough in its 
finery, yet hung its head, though far less sor- 
rowfully than its young driver, whom Se- 
mestre had exiled from his master’s house 
and the girl he loved. 

He spent half an hour in reaching the 
sanctuary. 

Old Jason, at the same time, was stand- 
ing before the little grove beside the steps 
leading to the cella. 

The worthy man cradled in his arms, as 


8o 


A QUESTION. 


Dorippe had just done in Lysander’s house, 
a little squealing creature, and this, too, 
was a pig ; but it wore no ribbon around its 
little tail and ears, was not particularly fat, 
and had numerous black spots under its 
scanty bristles and on its sharp snout. 

The old man was gazing at the innocent 
creature by no means tenderly, but Avith the 
utmost indignation. He had good reason 
to be angry, for the priest had not thought 
it fit for a sacrifice to the goddess, it was so 
poor in fat and full of bad marks. 

Alas, and Jason had no second pig, and 
Avas so eager to win the goddess to Phaon’s 
cause. 

As soon as he saw Semestre’s offering, he 
had hurried home to anticipate her with his 
OAAm, and first win the goddess’s heart for 
his young master. 

Now he stood considering whether he 
should strangle the unlucky creature, or 
carry it back to its mother. 

Like a frugal steward, he decided upon 
the latter course, and, just as he was com- 


A QUESTION. 


paring the image of the lean, spotted animal 
with its future well-rounded condition, he 
heard the hoofs of the donkey driven by 
Mopsus, the heavy thud of a stick on the 
elastic flesh, and after every blow, the shout, 
“ Semestre !” 

Directly after Mopsus and his donkey 
reached the old man, and as the youth, 
without looking to the right or left, dealt 
the animal another thwack, again uttering 
the house-keepers name, and in connection 
with it a succession of harsh, abusive words, 
Jason looked at the young man with ap- 
proval, nay, almost tenderly. 

The latter usually shouted a loud ‘'Joy 
be with you !” whenever he met the old 
man, but to-day answered his greeting only 
with a sorrowful nod and low murmur. 

The steward had stepped in front of him, 
laid his hard hand on the donkey’s head, 
and asked : 

" Do you call your ass Semestre?” 

Mopsus blushed, and answered: 

In future I shall call all she-asses 

A Question, 6 


A QUESTION. 


that, but the old Megsera named this one 
yason.” 

“Why, see,” cried the steward, “how 
kindly the worthy woman remembers me ! 
But she, too, was not forgotten, for, when- 
ever you lifted your stick, you thought, I 
should suppose, of her.” 

“Indeed I did!” cried Mopsus; then, 
while stroking the stripes on the donkey’s 
flanks, added kindly : 

“ Poor Jason, you too have nothing for 
which to thank the old woman. If you only 
knew how abominable this woman is — ” 

“I do know,” the steward interrupted, 
“ but she is an old woman, and it does not 
beseem you to abuse her; she represents 
the house under its invalid ruler.” 

“ I’d willingly lay both these hands under 
his feet,” cried the youth, “but Semestre 
has driven me out of his service for nothing, 
away from here and Dorippe, and where 
can I find a place in the neighborhood ?” 

The almost whining tone of the com- 
plaint contrasted oddly with the appearance 


A QUESTION. 


83 


of the tall, broad-shouldered Mopsus, yet 
tears filled his eyes, as he now told the . 
steward about the juggler, the dance, Semes- 
tre’s anger, his banishment from Lysander’s 
house, and the house-keeper’s commission 
to carry a sucking-pig to Aphrodite’s temple 
for her. 

Jason listened with only partial attention, 
for the low grunting of a pig, that reached 
his ears from one of the baskets on the don- 
key, seemed to him far more interesting 
than the poor fellow’s story. He knew the 
ways of every domestic animal, and such 
sounds were only uttered by a little pig that 
felt comfortably fat, and lived under favor- 
able circumstances. 

A great thought awoke in his mind, and 
must have pleased him hugely, for his eyes 
began to sparkle, his mouth puckered in, a 
smile, and he looked exactly like a satyr 
thrusting his thick lips toward the largest 
and ripest bunches of grapes in the vine- 
yard. 

When Mopsus paused, he angrily noticed 


84 


A QUESTION. 


what an enlivening influence his sorrowful 
story had had upon the old man, but soon 
laughed too ; for, ere he could give expres- 
sion to his dissatisfaction, Jason had opened 
the basket on the left of the donkey, taken 
out Semestre’s gayly-decked pig, put his 
own lanky animal in its place, and said, 
giggling with pleasure ; “ After what Se- 

mestre has done to a poor fellow like you, 
she doesn’t deserve the favor of our goddess. 
Let me offer Aphrodite this most charming 
of pigs, and you offer my little beast in the 
house-keeper’s name ; then her petition will 
certainly find no hearing.” 

At these words Mopsus’s broad face 
brightened, and, after laughing loudly, he 
struck his fist in the palm of his left hand, 
turned on the heel of his right foot, and ex- 
claimed : 

“Yes, that will be just right.” 

True, directly after, he looked as doubt- 
ful as if an invisible myrtle-staff had been 
swung over his back, and asked : 

“ But if she notices it ?” 


A QUESTION. 


85 


- “ I know how we’ll manage it,” replied the 
old man, and, putting Semestre’s pig in 
Mopsus’s arms, took the ribbons from its 
ears and curly tail. 

Meantime, the little animal grunted as 
piteously as if it noticed that its finery was 
being stolen and its beauty impaired. 

And when Jason, with Mopsus’s assist- 
ance, put the same ribbons on his own lank 
pig, it looked neither better nor prouder 
than before, for it was no lucky animal and 
did not appreciate beautiful gifts. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE WALK TO THE SEA. 

While the priest of Aphrodite received 
Jason’s gift, praised the pig’s beauty, and 
promised to slay it immediately, but said he 
would only accept the lean animal Mopsus 
offered in Semestre’s name for the sake of 
its ornaments and the giver, Xanthe came 
out of her father’s house. She wore her 


86 


A QUESTION. 


handsomest garments, and had carefully ar- 
ranged her beautiful fair hair reflecting as 
she did so on many different things, for 
maidens are fond of thinking when seated 
at the loom or spinning-wheel, or quietly 
occupied in adorning their tresses. 

Semestre followed close behind, and gave 
her a small knife, saying: 

“It is seemly to decorate the door of a 
welcome guest with flowers. The bushes 
are full of roses now, so go and cut as many 
as will be needed for a handsome garland, 
but gather only red or yellow flowers, no 
white ones, for they bring no good fortune. 
You will find the largest below near the 
bench by the sea.” 

“I know.” 

“Wait and hear me out.” 

“Well?” 

“The weather is delightful, there was a 
light breeze from the north during the night, 
so it may happen that the ship from Messina 
will arrive before noon.” 

“Then let me go down.” 


A QUESTION. 


87 


‘'Go and watch for the sails. If you see 
ours, hurry back and tell Chloris to call me, 
for I must go to the temple of Cypris.'’ 

“You?’' asked Xanthe, laughing. 

“/, and you are the last person who 
should sneer at the errand; nay, you can 
accompany me.” 

“No! I will cut the roses.” 

These words were uttered in a tone the 
house-keeper knew well. Whenever Xan- 
the used it, she insisted upon having her 
own way, and did what she pleased, while 
Semestre, who usually never admitted that 
her hearing was no longer so keen as in 
former days, in such cases willingly pleaded 
her deafness, in order to avoid a retreat. 

To-day she particularly shrank from irri- 
tating the easily-excited girl, and therefore 
replied : 

“What did you say? Wouldn’t it be bet- 
ter for you to go and cut the roses imme- 
diately, my dove ? Make haste, for the ves- 
sel for which you are to watch bears your 
happiness. How beautiful the ornaments 


88 


A QUESTION. 


Leonax is bringing will look! We have 
never yet seen the like, I imagine. The 
people in Messina haven’t forgotten poor 
me either, for I heard whispers about a robe 
such as matrons wear. It is — it might 
be — well, we shall see.” 

Tittering, and almost embarrassed, she 
fixed her eyes upon the ground, reminded 
Xanthe once more to have her called as 
soon as the ship from Messina appeared, 
and then, leaning on her myrtle-staff, tot- 
tered up the path leading to the temple of 
the goddess. 

Xanthe did not go directly down to the 
sea, but approached her uncle’s house to 
seek Phaon with her eyes. 

As she could not see him, either in the 
stables, or the walk lined with fig-trees 
trained upon espaliers beside the house, she 
turned quickly away, repressing out of pride 
her desire to call him. 

On her way to the sea she met her uncle’s 
high-shouldered slave. Xanthe stopped 
and questioned him. 


A QUESTION. 


89 


Semestre had told no lie. Phaon had 
not yet returned from a nocturnal excursion, 
and for several days had not reached home 
until jiist before sunrise. 

No, he was not the man to offer support 
to her sick father. He was looking for a 
wealthy heiress, and forgot his relatives for 
the sake of dissolute young men and worth- 
less wenches. 

This thought hurt her sorely, so sorely 
that she wanted to weep as she had done 
by the spring. 

But she forced back her tears ; not one 
wet her cheeks, yet it seemed as if her poor 
heart had obtained eyes to shed them. 

The little knife in her hand reminded her 
of her task of cutting roses, and watching 
for the ship which was to bring her uncle’s 
son from Messina. 

If Leonax was what Semestre described 
him, she would not repel him like the other 
suitors, whom she had rejected with laugh- 
ing lips. 

Yes, she would become his wife, not 


90 


A QUESTION. 


only for her father’s sake, but to punish 
Phaon. 

Sorrow and pain never felt before filled 
her heart after making this resolution. 

Wholly engrossed by these conflicting 
emotions, instead of going down to the sea, 
she walked straight on till she reached the 
great gate that led to her own home. 

There she remembered the object of her 
errand, and was just turning back, when the 
conjurer, who was resting outside the gate 
with his cart in the shadow of the fence, 
called : 

“You are obeying my advice, beautiful 
Xanthe, and move as thoughtfully as a so- 
phist.” 

“Then you must not disturb me,” cried 
the girl, raising her head defiantly. 

“Pardon me if I do so,” replied the other, 
“but I wanted to tell you that I might per- 
haps know of aid for your father. In my 
home — ” 

“Where is your home. 

“In Messina.” 


A QUESTION. 


91 


“Messina!'' exclaimed Xanthe, eagerly. 

“Avery experienced physician lives there,'* 
interrupted the conjurer. 

“No one has helped my father." 

“Yet—" 

“Then come in and speak to him.'’ 

“ I'm afraid of the cross old woman." 

“ She has gone out, and you will find 
father alone." 

“Then I’ll go to him." 

“ Did you say you were from Mes- 
sina?" 

“That is my home." 

“ Do you know my uncle Alciphron, the 
merchant ?" 

“ Certainly. He owns the most ships in 
the place." 

“And his son Leonax, too?" 

“ I often saw him, for my hut stands op- 
posite to the landing-place of your uncle's 
vessels, and the youth always superintends 
the loading and unloading. He, if any one, 
belongs to those spoiled children of fortune 
who disgust poor dwarfs like me with life> 


92 


A QUESTION. 


and make us laugh when people say there 
are just gods above.” 

“You are blaspheming.” 

“ I only say what others think.” 

“ Yet you too were young once.” 

“ But I was a dwarf, and he resembles 
Achilles in stature ; I was poor and he does 
not know what to do with his wealth ; maid- 
ens fled from me as they seek him; I was 
found in the streets ; and a father still guides, 
a loving mother kisses him. I don’t envy 
him, for whoever enters life an orphan is 
spared the pain of becoming one afterward.” 

“You speak bitter words.” 

“ He who is beaten does not laugh.” 

“So you envy Leonax his prosperity?” 

“ No, for, though I might have such excel- 
lent cause to complain, I envy no king, for 
there is but one person whose inmost heart I 
know thoroughly, and that one stands before 
you.” 

“You revile Fate, and yet believe it pos- 
sible that we may all have more sorrow to 
bear than you.” 


A QUESTION. 


93 


“You have understood me rightly.” 

“Then admit that you may be happier 
than many.” 

“ If only most of the contented people 
were not stupid. However, this morning I 
arh pleased, because your father gave me 
this new garment, and I rarely need despair ; 
I earn enough bread, cheese, and wine with 
the aid of my hens, and am not obliged to ask 
any man’s favor. I go with my cart wher- 
ever I choose.” 

“Then you ought to thank the gods, in- 
stead of accusing them.” 

“ No, for absence of suffering is not hap- 
piness.” 

“ And do you believe Leonax happy ?” 

“ Hitherto he seems to be, and the fickle 
goddess will perhaps remain faithful to him 
longer than to many others, for he is busy 
from early till late, and is his father’s right- 
hand. At least he won’t fall into one of the 
pits Fate digs for mortals.” 

“ And that is — ?” 

“ Weariness. Thousands are worse, and 


94 


A QUESTION. 


few better, than your cousin ; yes, the maid- 
en he chooses for his wife may rejoice.” 

Xanthe blushed, and the dwarf, as he en- 
tered the gate, asked ; 

“ Is Leonax wooing his little cousin?” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ But the little cousin has some one else 
in her mind.” 

“ Who told you so ?” 

“ My hens.” 

“ Then remember me to them !” cried 
Xanthe, who left the juggler and ran 
straight toward the path leading to the sea. 

J ust at the point where the latter branched 
off from the broader road used by carts as 
well as foot-passengers, stood a singular 
monument, before which the young girl 
checked her steps. 

The praise the conjurer had lavished on 
Leonax afforded her little pleasure ; nay, 
she would rather have heard censure of the 
Messina suitor, for, if he corresponded with 
the dwarf’s portrait, he would be the right 
man to supply a son’s place to her father, 


A QUESTION. 


95 


and rule as master over the estate, where 
many things did not go on as they ought. 
Then she must forget the faithless night- 
reveller, Phaon — if she could. 

Every possession seems most charming 
at the time we are obliged to resign it, and 
never in all her life had Xa'nthe thought so 
tenderly and longingly of Phaon as now and 
on this spot. 

The monument, overgrown with blossom- 
ing vines, before which she paused, was a 
singular structure, that had been built of 
brick between her own and her uncle's gar- 
den. 

It was in the form of a strong wall, 
bounded by two tall pillars. In the wall 
were three rows of deep niches with arched 
ceilings, while on the pillars, exquisitely 
painted upon a brownish-red ground, were 
the Genius of Death lowering his torch be- 
fore an offering-altar, and Orpheus, who 
had released his wife from the realm of 
shadows and was now bearing her to the 
upper world. 


96 


A QUESTION. 


Many of the niches were still empty, but 
in some stood vases of semi-transparent 
alabaster. 

The- newest, which had found a place in 
the lowest row, contained the ashes of the 
young girl’s grandfather, Dionysius, and his 
wife, and another pair of urns the two 
mothers, her own and Phaon’s. 

Both had fallen victims on the same day 
to the plague, the only pestilence that had 
visited this bright coast within the memory 
of man. This had happened eight years 
ago. . 

At that time Xanthe was still a child, but 
Phaon a tall lad. 

The girl passed this place ten times a 
day, often thought of the beloved dead, and, 
when she chanced to remember them still 
more vividly, waved a greeting to the dear 
ashes, because some impulse urged her to 
give her faithful memory some outward ex- 
pression. 

Very rarely did she recall the day when 
the funeral-pile had cooled, and the ashes of 


A QUESTION. 


97 


the two mothers, ^both so early summoned 
to the realm of shadows, were collected, 
placed in the vases, and added to the other 
urns. But now she could not help remem- 
bering' it, and how she had sat before one of 
the pillars of the monument weeping bit- 
terly, and asking herself again and again, 
if it were possible that her mother would 
n*ever, never come to kiss her, speak caress- 
ing words, arrange her hair and pet her; 
nay, for the first time, she longed to hear 
even a sharp reproof from the lips now 
closed forever. 

Phaon was standing by the other pillar, 
his eyes covered with his right hand. 

Never before or since had she seen him 
look so sad, and it cut her to the heart when 
she noticed that he trembled as if a chill had 
seized him, and, drawing a long breath, 
pushed back the hair, which like a coal- 
black curtain, covered half his forehead. 
She had wept bitterly, but he shed no 
tears. Only a few poor words were ex- 
changed between them in that hour, but 

A Question. 7 


98 


A QUESTION. 


each one still echoed in her ears to-day, as 
if hours instead of years intervened between 
that time and now. 

“Mine was so good,” Xanthe had sobbed; 
but he only nodded, and, after fifteen min- 
utes had passed, said nothing but, “And 
mine too.” 

In spite of the long pause that separated 
the girl’s words from the boy’s, they were 
tenderly united, bound together by the 
thought, dwelling uninterruptedly in both 
childish hearts, “My mother was so good.” 

It was again Xanthe who, after some 
time, had broken the silence by asking : 

“ Whom have I now ?” 

Again it was long ere Phaon, for his only 
answer, could repeat softly : 

“Yes, whom?” 

They were trivial words, but they ex- 
pressed the deep wretchedness which only 
a child’s heart can feel. 

Scarcely had they found their way over 
the boy’s lips when he pressed his left hand 
also over his eyes, his breast heaved convul- 


A QUESTION. 


99 


slvely, and a torrent of burning tears coursed 
down his cheeks. 

Both children still had their fathers, but 
they forgot them in this hour. 

Who, if the warm sun were extinguished, 
would instantly remember that the moon 
and stars remain ? 

As Phaon wept so violently, Xanthe’s 
tears began to flow more slowly, and she 
gazed at him a long time with ardent sym- 
pathy, unperceived by the lad, for he still 
covered his eyes with his hands. 

The child had met a greater grief than 
her own, and, as soon as she felt that she 
was less sorrow-stricken than her playfel- 
low, a desire to soothe his sorrow arose. 

As the whole plant, with its flowers and 
fruit, is contained in the sprouting seed, so, 
too, in the youngest girl lives the future 
mother, who dries all tears, cheers and con- 
soles. 

As Phaon remained in the same attitude, 
Xanthe rose, approached him, timidly pulled 
his cloak, and said ; 


lOO 


A QUESTION. 


“Comedown to our house; I will show 
you something pretty ; four young doves 
have come out of the shell ; they have big, 
wide bills, and are very ugly.” 

Her playmate removed his hands from his 
eyes and answered kindly : 

“ No, let me alone, please.” 

Xanthe now took his hand and drew him 
away, saying : 

“Yes, you must come; the pole of my 
cart is broken.” 

Phaon had been so accustomed to be 
always called upon whenever there were 
any of the little girl’s playthings to mend 
that he obeyed, and the next day allowed 
her to persuade him to do many things for 
which he felt no inclination. 

He yielded in order not to grieve her, 
and, as he became more cheerful and even 
joined in her merry laugh, Xanthe rejoiced 
as if she had released him from his sorrow. 
From that time she claimed his services as 
eagerly as before, but in her own heart felt 
as if she were his little mother, and watched 


A QUESTION. 


lOI 


all his actions as though specially commis- 
sioned to do so. 

When she had grown up she did not hesi- 
tate to encourage or blame him, nay, was 
often vexed or grieved about him, especially 
if in the games or dances he paid more at- 
tention than she deemed reasonable to other 
girls, against whom there was much or little 
objection, nay, often none at all. Not on 
her own account, she said to herself, it 
could make no difference to her, but she 
knew these girls, and it was her duty to 
warn him. 

She willingly forgave many things, but 
on this point was extremely rigid, and even 
allowed anger to carry her to the verge of 
rudeness. 

Now, as she stood beside the sepulchre, 
she thought of the hour when she had com- 
forted him, of her care for him and how it 
had all been vain, for he spent his nights in 
rioting with flute-playing women. Yes, Se- 
mestre had said so. He seemed to Xanthe 
lost, utterly lost. 


102 


A QUESTION. 


When she wept in the morning beside 
the spring, it was not, she now thought, be- 
cause of the heiress from Messina; no, the 
tears that had sprung to her eyes were like 
those a mother sheds for her erring son. 

She seemed to herself extremely vener- 
able, and would have thought it only natural 
if gray hair instead of golden had adorned 
the head over which scarcely seventeen 
years had passed. 

She even assumed the gait of a dignified 
matron, but it was hardly like a mother, 
when, on her way to the rose-bushes by the 
sea, she studiously strove to misunderstand 
and pervert everything good in Phaon, and 
call his quiet nature indolence, his zeal to be 
useful to her weakness, his taciturn manner 
mere narrow-mindedness, and even his beau- 
tiful, dreamy eyes sleepy. 

With all this, the young girl found little 
time to think of the new suitor ; she must 
first shatter the old divine image, but every 
blow of the hammer hurt her as if it fell 
upon herself. 


A QUESTION. 


103 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE ANSWER. 

The rose-bush to which Xanthe went 
grew on the dike that belonged in commori 
to her father and uncle, beside a bench of 
beautifully-polished white marble. 

Many a winter had loosened the different 
blocks, and bordered them with yellow 
edges. 

Even at a distance the girl saw that the 
seat was not vacant. The brook that flowed 
from the spring to the sea ran beneath it, 
and the maid-servants were in the habit of 
washing the household linen in its swift cur- 
rent. 

Were they now using the bench to spread 
out the garments they had rinsed ? 

No ! A man lay on the hard marble, a 
man who had drawn his light cloak over his 
face to protect himself from the rays of the 
sun, now rising higher and higher. 


104 


A QUESTION. 


His sandaled feet and ankles, bandaged 
as if for journeying, appeared beneath the 
covering. 

By these feet Xanthe quickly recognized 
the sleeping youth. 

It was Phaon. She would have known 
him, even if she had seen only two of his 
fingers. 

The sun would soon reach its meridian 
height, and there he lay asleep. 

At first it had startled her to find him 
here, but she soon felt nothing but indigna- 
tion, and again the image of the flute-playing 
women, with whom he must have revelled 
until thus exhausted, rose before her mind. 

“ Let him sleep,” she murmured proudly 
and contemptuously; she passed him, cut a 
handful of roses from the bushes covered 
with crimson and yellow blossoms, sat down 
on the vacant space beside his head, watched 
for the ship from Messina, and, as it did not 
come, began to weave the garland. 

She could do the work here as well as 
anywhere else, and told herself that it was 


A QUESTION. 


105 


all the same to her whether Phaon or her 
father’s linen lay there. But her heart be- 
lied these reflections, for it throbbed so 
violently that it ached. 

And why would not her fingers move; 
Avhy could her eyes scarcely distinguish the 
red roses from the yelloAv ones? 

The garden was perfectly still, the sea 
seemed to slumber, and, if a wave lapped 
the shore, it was with a low, almost inaudi- 
ble murmur. 

A butterfly hovered like a dream over her 
roses, and a lizard glided noiselessly, like a 
sudden thought, into a chink between the 
stones at her feet. Not a breath of air 
stirred, not a leaf or a twig fell from the 
trees. 

Yonder, as if slumbering under a blue 
veil, lay the Calabrian coast, while nearer 
and more distant, but always noiselessly, 
ships and boats, with gently swelling sails, 
glided over the water. Even the cicadas 
seemed to sleep, and everything around was 
as still, as horribly still, as if the breath of 


io6 


A QUESTION. 


the world, blooming and sparkling about 
her, was ready to fail. 

Xanthe sat spellbound beside the sleeper, 
while her heart beat so rapidly and strongly 
that she fancied it was the only sound audi- 
ble in this terrible silence. 

The sunbeams poured fiercely on her 
head, her cheeks glowed, a painful anxiety 
overpowered her, and certainly not to rouse 
Phaon, but merely to hear some noise, she 
coughed twice, not without effort. When 
she did so the third time, the sleeper stirred, 
removed from his face the end of the cloak 
that had covered his head, slowly raised 
himself a little, and, without changing his 
recumbent posture, said simply and quietly, 
in an extremely musical voice: 

“Is that you, Xanthe?” 

The words were low, but sounded very 
joyous. 

The girl merely cast a swift glance at the 
speaker, and then seemed as busily occupied 
with her roses as if she were sitting entirely 
alone. 


A QUESTION. 


107 


‘‘Well?’' he asked again, fixing his large 
dark eyes upon her with an expression of 
surprise, and waiting for some greeting. 

As she remained persistently silent, he 
exclaimed, still in the same attitude: 

“I wish you a joyful morning, Xanthe.” 

The young girl, without answering this 
greeting, gazed upward to the sky and sun 
as long as she could endure the light, but 
her lips quivered, and she flung the rose she 
held in her hand among its fellows in her 
lap. 

Phaon had followed the direction of her 
look, and again broke the silence, saying 
with a smile, no less quietly than before: 

“Yes, indeed, the sun tells me I’ve been 
sleeping here a long time; it is almost 
noon.” 

The youth’s composure aroused a storm 
of indignation in Xanthe’s breast. Her ex- 
citable blood fairly seethed, and she was 
obliged to put the utmost constraint upon 
herself not to throw her roses in his face. 

But she succeeded in curbing her wrath, 


Io8 A QUESTION. 

and displaying intense eagerness, as she 
shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed 
toward some ships that appeared in view. 

don't know what is the matter with 
you," said Phaon, smoothing with his right 
hand the black hair that covered half his 
forehead. ‘‘Do you expect the ship from 
Messina and my father already?" 

“And my cousin Leonax'' replied the girl, 
quickly, putting a strong emphasis upon the 
last name. 

Then she again gazed into the distance. 

Phaon shook his head, and both remained 
silent for several minutes. At last he raised 
himself higher, turned his full face toward 
the young girl, gazed at her as tenderly and 
earnestly as if he wished to stamp her image 
upon his soul for life, gently pulled the long, 
floating sleeve of her peplum, and said : 

“ I didn't think it Avould be necessary — 
but I must ask you something." 

While he spoke, Xanthe rested her right 
elbow on her knee, drummed on her scarlet 
lips with her fingers, and clasped the back 


A QUESTION. 


109 


of the marble bench with her out-stretched 
left arm. 

Her eyes told him that she was ready to 
listen, though she still uttered no word of 
reply. 

“ I have a question to ask you, Xanthe !” 
continued Phaon. 

“You?” interrupted the girl, with visible 
astonishment. 

“ I, who else? Jason told me yesterday 
evening that our uncle Alciphron had wooed 
you for his son Leonax, and was sure of 
finding a favorable reception from old Se- 
mestre and your poor father. I went at 
once to ask you if it were true, but turned 
back again, for there were other things to 
be done, and I thought we belonged to 
each other, and you could not love any one 
so well as you loved me. I don’t like use- 
less words, and cannot tell you what is in 
my heart, but you knew it long ago. Now 
you are watching for your cousin Leonax. 
We have never seen him, and I should 
think—” 


I lO 


A QUESTION. 


“ But I know,” interrupted the girl, rising 
so hastily that her roses fell unheeded on 
the ground — “but I know he is a sensible 
man, his father’s right-hand, a man who 
would disdain to riot all night with flute- 
playing women, and to woo girls only be- 
cause they are rich.” 

“ I don’t do that either,” replied Phaon. 
“Your flowers have dropped on the 
ground — ” 

With these words the youth rose, bent 
over the roses, gathered them together, and 
offered them to Xanthe with his left hand, 
while trying to clasp her fingers in his right; 
but she drew back, saying : ^ 

“ Put them on the bench, and go up to 
wash the sleep from your eyes.” 

“ Do I look weary ?” 

“ Of course, though you’ve lain here till 
noon.” 

“But I have scarcely slept for several 
days.” 

“And dare you boast of it?” asked 
Xanthe, with glowing cheeks. “ I am not 


A QUESTION. 


I I I 


your mother, and you must do as you 
choose, but if you think I belonged to you 
because we played with each other as child- 
ren, and I was not unwilling to give you my 
hand in the dance, you are mistaken. I 
care for no man who turns day into night 
and night into day.” 

At the last words Xanthe’s eyes filled 
with tears, and Phaon noticed it with aston- 
ishment. 

He gazed at her sadly and beseechingly, 
and then fixed his eyes on the ground. At 
last he began to suspect the cause of her 
anger, and asked, smiling: 

“ You probably mean that I riot all 
night?” 

“Yes!” cried Xanthe ; she withdrew her 
hand for the second time, and half turned 
away. 

“ Oh !” he replied, in a tone of mingled 
surprise and sorrow, “you ought not to 
have believed that.” 

Xanthe turned, raised her eyes in aston- 
ishment, and asked : 


I 12 


A QUESTION. 


“ Then where have you been these last 
nights ?” 

“ Up in your olive-grove with the three 
Hermes.” 

“ You ?” 

“ How amazed you look !” 

“ I was only thinking of the wicked fel- 
lows who have robbed many trees of their 
fruit. That savage Korax, with his thievish 
sons, lives just beside the wall.” 

“ For your sake, Xanthe, and because 
your poor father is ill and unable to look 
after his property, while Mopsus and your 
fishermen and slaves were obliged to go in 
the ship to Messina, to handle the oars and 
manage the sails, I always went up as soon 
as it grew dark.” 

“ And have you kept watch there ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ So many nights ?” 

“One can sleep after sunrise.” 

“ How tired you must be !” 

“I’ll make up my sleep when my father 
returns.” 


A QUESTION. I 13 

They say he is seeking the rich Men- 
tor’s only daughter for your wife.” 

^ Not with my will, certainly.” 

- Phaon !” 

I am glad you will give me your hand 
again.” 

‘‘You dear, good, kind fellow, how shall 
I thank you ?” 

“Anything but that! If you hadn’t 
thought such foolish things about me, I 
should never have spoken of my watch up 
yonder. Who could have done it except 
myself, before Mopsus came back ?” 

“ No one, no one but you ! But now — 
now ask your question at once.” 

“ May I ? O Xanthe, dear, dear Xanthe, 
will you have me or our cousin Leonax for 
your husband 

You, you, only you, and nobody else on 
earth !” cried the girl, throwing both arm$ 
around him. Phaon clasped her closely, 
and joyously kissed her brow and lips. 

The sky, the sea, the sun, everything 
near or distant that was bright and beauti- 

A Question. 8 


A QUESTION. 


II4 

ful, was mirrored in their hearts, and it 
seemed to both as if they heard all creatures 
that sing, laugh, and rejoice. Each thought 
that, in the other, he or she possessed the 
whole world with all its joy and happiness. 
They were united, wholly united, there was 
nothing except themselves, and thus they 
became to each other an especially blissful 
world, beside which every other created 
thing sank into nothingness. 

Minute after minute passed, nearly an 
hour had elapsed, and, instead of making 
garlands, Xanthe clasped her arms around 
Phaon’s neck ; instead of gazing into the 
distant horizon, she looked into his eyes ; 
instead of watching for approaching steps, 
both listened to the same sweet words which 
lovers always repeat, and yet never grow 
weary of speaking and hearing. 

The roses lay on the ground, the ship 
from Messina ran into the bay beside the 
estate, and Semestre hobbled down to 
the sea to look for Xanthe, and in the 
place of the master of the house receive 


A QUESTION. I 1 5 

her favorite’s son, who came as a suitor, 
like a god. 

She repeatedly called the girl’s name be- 
fore reaching the marble bench, but always 
in vain. 

When she had at last reached the myrtle- 
grove, which had concealed the lovers from 
her eyes, she could not help beholding the 
unwelcome sight. 

Xanthe was resting her head on Phaon’s 
breast, while he bent down and kissed her 
eyes, her mouth, and at last — who ever did 
such things in her young days? — even her 
delicate little nose. 

For several minutes Semestre’s tongue 
seemed paralyzed, but at last she raised 
both arms, and a cry of mingled indignation 
and anguish escaped her lips. 

Xanthe started up in terror, but Phaon 
remained sitting on the marble bench, held 
the young girl’s hand in his own, and looked 
no more surprised than if some fruit had 
dropped from the tree beside him. 

The youth’s composure increased the old 


A QUESTION. 


I l6 

woman’s fury, and her lips were just parting' 
to utter a torrent of angry words, when 
Jason stepped as lightly as a boy between 
her and the betrothed lovers, cast a de- 
lighted glance at his favorites, and bowing 
with comic dignity to Semestre cried, laugh- 
ing: 

‘‘The two will be husband and wife, my 
old friend, and ought to ask your blessing, 
unless you wickedly intend to violate a 
solemn vow/’ 

“I will — I will! When did I — ” shrieked 
the house-keeper. 

“Didn’t you,” interrupted Jason, raising 
his voice — “didn’t you vow this morning 
that you would prepare Phaon’s wedding- 
feast with your own hands as soon as you 
yourself offered a sacrifice to the Cyprian 
goddess to induce her to unite their hearts?” 

“And I’ll stick to it, so surely as the gra- 
cious goddess — ” 

“I hold you to your promise !” exclaimed 
Jason. “Your sucking-pig has just been 
offered to Aphrodite. The priest gladly 


A QUESTION. 


II7 


accepted it and slaughtered it before my 
eyes, imploring the goddess with me, to fill 
Xanthe’s heart with love for Phaon/’ 

The house-keeper clinched her hands, ap- 
proached Jason, and so plainly showed her 
intention of attacking him that the steward, 
who had assailed many a wild-boar, re- 
treated — by no means fearlessly. 

She forced him back to the marble bench, 
screaming : 

‘‘So that’s why the priest found no word 
of praise for my beautiful pig! You’re a 
thief, a cheat ! You took my dear little pig, 
which all the other gods might envy the 
mother of Eros, put in its place a wretched 
animal just like yourself, and falsely said it 
came from me. Oh, I see through the 
whole game ! That fine Mopsus was your 
accomplice; but so true as I — ” 

, “Mopsus has entered our service,” replied 
Jason, laughing; “and, if our Phaon’s bride 
will permit, he wants to wed the dark- 
haired Dorippe. Henceforth our property 
is yours.” 


A QUESTION. 


Il8 

“And ours yours,” replied Xanthe — “Be 
good-natured, Semestre; I will marry no 
man but Phaon, and shall soon win my 
father over to our side, rely upon that.” 

The house-keeper was probably forced to 
believe these very resolute words, for, like a 
vanquished but skilful general, she began 
to think of covering her retreat, saying: 

“I was outwitted; but, what I vowed in 
a moment of weakness, I have now sworn 
again. I am only sorry for your poor 
father, wdio needed a trustworthy son, and 
the good Leonax — ” 

At this moment, as if he had heard his 
name and obediently appeared at her call, 
the son of Alciphron, of Messina, appeared 
with Phaon’s father, Protarch, from the 
shadow of the myrtle-grove. 

He was a gay, handsome youth, richly 
and carefully dressed. After many a pres- 
sure of the hand and cordial words of wel- 
come, Phaon took the young girl’s hand and 
led her to the new-comers, saying: 

“ Give me Xanthe for a wife, my father. 


A QUESTION. 


II9 

We have grown up together like the ivy 
and wild vine on the wall, and cannot part.” 

No certainly not,” added Xanthe, blush- 
ing and nestling closely to her lover s side, 
as she gazed beseechingly first at her uncle, 
and then at the young visitor from Messina. 

‘‘Children, children!” cried Protarch, “you 
spoil my best plans. I had destined Agariste, 
the rich Mentor s only child, for you, foolish 
boy, and already had come to terms with the 
old miser. But who can say I will, or this 
and that shall happen to-morrow? You are 
very sweet and charming my girl, and I 
don't say that I shouldn't be glad, but — 
mighty Zeus 1 what will my brother Alci- 
phron say — and you, Leonax ?” 

“ I ?” asked the young man, smiling. “ I 
came here like a dutiful son, but I confess I 
rejoice over what has happened, for now 
my parents will hardly say ‘No' a second 
time, when I beg them to give me Codrus's 
daughter, Ismene, for my wife.” 

“And there stands a maiden who seems to 
like to hear such uncivil words better than 


120 


A QUESTION. 


Helen loved Paris’s flattering speeches !” 
exclaimed Phaon s father, first kissing his 
future daughter’s cheek and then his son’s 
forehead. 

“ But now let us go to father,” pleaded 
Xanthe. 

“ Only one moment,” replied Protarch “to 
look after the boxes the people are bring- 
ing. — Take care of the large chest with the 
Phoenician dishes and matron’s robes, my 
lads.” 

During the first moments of the welcome, 
Semestre had approached her darling’s son, 
told him who she was, received his father’s 
messages of remembrance, kissed his hand, 
and stroked his arm. 

His declaration that he wished another 
maiden than Xanthe for his wife soothed 
her not a little, and when she now heard of 
matrons’ dresses, and not merely one robe, 
her eyes sparkled joyously, and, fixing them 
on the ground, she asked : 

“ Is there a blue one among them? I’m 
particularly fond of blue.” 


A QUESTION. 


I2I 


“ I’ve selected a blue one, too,” replied 
Protarch. “I’ll explain for what purpose up 
yonder. Now we’ll go and greet my 
brother.” 

Xanthe, hand in hand with her lover, 
hurried on in advance of the procession, 
lovingly prepared her father for what had 
happened, told him how much injustice he, 
old Semestre, and she herself had done poor 
Phaon, led the youth to him, and, deeply 
agitated, sank on her knees before him as 
he laid her hand in her playfellow’s, ex- 
claiming in a trembling voice : 

“ I have always loved you, curly-head, 
and Xanthe wants you for her husband. 
Then I, too, should have a son ! — Hear, 
lofty Olympians, a good, strong, noble son ! 
Help me up, my boy. How well I feel ! 
Haven’t I gained in you two stout legs and 
arms? Only let the old woman come to 
me to-day ! The conjurer taught me how 
to meet her.” 

Leaning on Phaon’s strong shoulder he 
joyously went out of the house, greeted his 


122 


A QUESTION. 


handsome young nephew as well as his 
brother, and said : 

“ Let Phaon live with Xanthe in my 
house, which will soon be his own, for I am 
feeble and need help.”' 

“With all my heart,” cried Protarch, 
“ and it will be well on every account, for, 
for — well, it must come out, for I, foolish 
graybeard — ” 

“Well ?” asked Lysander, and Semestre 
curved her hand into a shell and held it to 
her ear to hear better. 

“ I — just look at me — I, Protarch, Dio- 
nysius’s son, can no longer bear to stay in 
the house all alone with that silent youth 
and old Jason, and so I have — perhaps it is 
a folly, but certainly no crime — so I have 
chosen a new wife in Messina.” 

“ Protarch !” cried Lysander, raising his 
hands in astonishment ; but Phaon nodded 
to his father approvingly, exchanging a joy- 
ous glance with Xanthe. 

“ He has chosen my mother’s younger 
sister,” said Leonax. 


A QUESTION. 


123 


The younger, yes, but not the young- 
est,” interrupted Protarch. ‘‘You must 
have your wedding in three days, children. 
Phaon will live here in your house, Lysan- 
der, with his Xanthe, and I in the old one 
yonder with my Praxilla. Directly after 
your marriage I shall go back to Messina 
with Leonax and bring home my wife.” 

“ We have long needed a mistress in the 
house, and I bless your bold resolution !” 
exclaimed Jason. 

“Yes, you were always brave,” said the 
invalid. 

“ But not so very courageous this time as 
4t might seem,” answered Protarch, smiling. 
“Praxilla is an estimable widow, and it was 
for her I purchased in Messina the matron's 
robes for which you asked, Semestre.” 

“For her?” murmured the old woman. 

“There is a blue one among them too, 
which will be becoming, for she has light 
brown hair very slightly mixed with gray. 
But she is cheerful, active, and clever, and 
will aid Phaon and Xanthe in their young 


124 


A QUESTION. 


house-keeping with many a piece of good 
advice.” 

“I shall go to my daughter in Agrigen- 
tum,” said Semestre, positively. 

“Go,” replied Lysander, kindly, “and 
enjoy yourself in your old age on the money 
you have saved.” 

“Which my father,” added Leonax, “will 
increase by the sum of a thousand drach- 
mae.” 

“My Alciphron has a heart!” cried the 
house-keeper. 

“You shall receive from me, on the day 
of your departure, the same sum and a ma- 
tron’s blue robe,” said Lysander. 

Shortly after the marriage of Xanthe and 
Phaon, Semestre went to live with her 
daughter. 

The dike by the sea was splendidly re- 
paired without any dispute, for the estate 
once more belonged to the two brothers in 
common, and Xanthe found in Praxilla a 
new, kind mother. 

The marble seat, on which the young 


A QUESTION. 


125 


people's fate was decided, was called by the 
grandchildren of the wedded pair, who lived 
to old age in love and harmony, ''the bench 
of the question." 


THE END. 



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ADVERTISEMENTS 


A QUESTION.— The idyl of a picture, by his friend Alma 
Tadema, related by Georg’ Ebers, from the German by 
Mary J. Safford. Authorized edition, in one volume, with 
frontispiece. 

“ Many will remember a charming picture by Mr. Alma Tadema 
called ‘The Idyl,’ which was exhibited not very long ago. It repre- 
sents two classical figures, one reclining on a bench and evidently 
telling a tale to a second who sits hard by. Above the wall is a bright 
strip of blue sea and an olive tree. This simple picture suggested the 
beautiful story under review to Herr Georg Ebers, and Miss Mary J. 
Safford has cleverly translated it into English. It is of course ex- 
quisitely written, and in justice to the translator, the English into 
which she has transferred it for the benefit of British readers, is ele- 
gant and graceful. The little tale abounds in beautiful descriptions. 

“Nothing can be better than the word pictures. Professor Ebers 
has painted in this delightful tale. It is certainly, although shor^, 
throughout worthy of its famous writer, and of the celebrated classical 
artist to whom it is dedicated .” — London Morning Post ^ Sept. 2, 1882. 

“ Perhaps it is because I seldom find time to read works of fiction 
that the little book has had so delicious a charm for me. The scene is 
laid on the island of Sicily, near Syracuse, and in sight of the smoky 
banner of Mt. .^tna ; time, when the entire earth and air were peopled 
with gods, nymphs, and satyrs ; theme, older than the city Dionysius 
desolated and Timoleon delivered, as old as humanity itself, for it is 
love. There is no villain, and consequently no crime ; there is even 
no rival. The dramatis personce consist of that important factor of 
every love story, a beautiful girl, her invalid father, a garrulous old 
housekeeper, servants, a clown, some hens, a donkey, and, toward the 
very end, a lover. It is fragrant with blooming flowers, and it gives a 
pretty picture of household duties and everyday life, perhaps at the 
very time when patient Penelope was being worried by suitors and 
sighing for the return of Ulysses. It can be read in a couple of hours, 
and the result is as refreshing as a summer shower upon thirsty fields.” 
— The Spectator, St. Louis, ^une 4, 1881. 


WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER, Publisher, New York. 

For sale by booksellers in all the principal cities of Europe. 









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